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EDITED  BY 

A    6^.   De  FONTAINE 


MS! 


NEW    YORK  : 

Copyright,  187S,  by 

G.  IV.  Carle  ton  &  Co.,  Pub  lis  hers. 


LONDON  :     S.    LOW   &    CO. 
MDCCCLXXVIII. 


Trow's 
Pmnting  and  Bookbinding  Co., 


LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FAeB 

DiTNDREARY  AXD  The  Cbushed  TRAGEDIAN Frontispiece 

Dundreary  in  a  Dilemma 25 

Love  in  a  Hornet's  Nest , 41 

David  Garrick 71 

Brother  Sam 99 

SOTHERN   IN   his    DRESSING  RoOM 131 

Crushed  Tragedian 151 

SOTHERN   IN  HIS  FiSHING  BoOTS 183 

Birds  of  a  Feather 223 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 


FAOa 

Introduction xi 

Pen  and  Ink  Sketch  of  Edward  A.  Sothern t  15 

The  Actor's  early  Life 18 

A  Reminiscence  of  Charles  Kean 19 

First  Experience  in  New  York 21 

Lord  Dundreary,  the  Origin  of 23 

The  Dundreary  Hop 24 

Birds  of  a  Feather 24 

Dundreary  in  a  Dilemma 25 

A  new  Dundreary 28 

David  Garrick 29 

The  Authorship  of  "  David  Garrick"  and  "Home  " 30 

History  of  "  David  Garrick  " 33 

The  "Crushed  Tragedian" 35 

A  Criticism  of  the  "  Crushed  " 36 

The  "Hornet's  Nest" 39 

A  Criticism  of  the  "  Hornet's  Nest " 41 

A  Love  Story  necessary  to  a  Successful  Play 45 

W.  S.  Gilbert,  the  Dramatic  Author 46 

Henry  J.  Byron 47 

Byron's  Wit 49 

[vii] 


viii  TABLE     OF    CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

English  Actors 51 

Gustavus  V.  Brooke  and  Charles  Matthews 53 

Buckstone 54 

Incidents  of  the  Stage 54 

Audiences  and  Actors 56 

Temperament  as  an  Element  of  Success 58 

Annoyances  of  Managers 59 

Unremembered  Cues 61 

"  I've  swallowed  the  File  " 64 

An  Experience  with  "  Brother  Professionals  " 66 

Studies  from  Life 67 

Jem  Ward,  the  Pugilist 70 

Personal  Traits 75 

Impressions  of  America. 76 

Experience  in  Nova  Scotia 78 

An  absent-minded  Actor 79 

An  Actor's  Apology 80 

Sold  by  a  Waiter 82 

Taking  down  a  Colonel 83 

Saving  the  City  of  Halifax 84 

A  Glasgow  Supper  Party 86 

An  Amateur  Ventriloquist 91 

A  Joke  on  his  Manager 95 

Autograph  Hunters 96 

The  Art  of  Flying 97 

Sothern  and  the  Count  Joannes 105 

California  Hospitality — Sothern  in  Jail 109 

Reminiscences  of  a  Manager 117 

Sothern  in  his  Dressing-room 120 

A  Tribute  from  Mr.  Stephen  Fiske 124 

The  Dummy  Cornetist 125 

Sothern  in  London 128 


TABLE     OF    CONTENTS.  ix 

FA  OB 

A  sociable  Shower-bath 130 

An  Omnibus  Adventure 131 

Sothern  and  Toole 133 

Managerial  Compliments 134 

Caught  at  Last 135 

A  Spiritual  Joke 136 

As  a  Conjuror 137 

Under  the  Table 138 

A  Hunting  Incident 140 

Two  Bob  for  a  Somersault 143 

ABefogged  Clerk 143 

Dundreary  in  Handcuffs 145 

Sothern  Criticised  by  George  W.  Childs 150 

A  Row  at  the  Gramercy  Park  Hotel 154 

Sothern  in  an  English  railway  car 158 

A  Breakfast  Party  with  Toole 161 

A  Breakfast  at  the  Continental  Hotel,  Philadelphia 163 

How  to  make  an  Acquaintance 166 

Begging  Letters 168 

Sothern  as  remembered  by  a  Veteran  Actress 170 

Spiritual  Experiences 175 

Good  Deeds 180 

Rescuing  a  Runaway 180 

Only  an  Actor 183 

Laura  Keene 183 

Sothern  and  his  Fishing  Boots 185 

The  Quebec  Sportsman 188 

A  Phrenological  Seance 193 

Appearances  are  often  Deceitful 310 

How  my  "  Lord  Dundreary  "  was  caught  Napping  by  the 

"Member  from  Cohosh " 311 

Fun  in  France 314 


X  TABLE     OF    CONTENTS. 

FAOB 

Dundreary  in  Paris 216 

A  Desperate  American 217 

The  Dundreary  Letter 220 

Conversational  Quickness 221 

Sothern  and  the  Fire  Test 225 

A  Reportorial  Interview  on  the  Same  Subject 230 

The  Dying  Actress 236 

The  Late  George  Holland 238 

The  Baron  of  Birmingham 242 

Farewell  Speech  and  Benefit  in  Kew  York 247 


INTRODUCTION. 


Edward  Askew  Sothebn,  the  great  actor,  numbers 
his  friends  and  admirers  by  thousands,  on  both  sides 
of  the  Atlantic.  As  the  author  of  those  wondrous 
creations  of  Dundreary,  Brother  Sam,  "  The  Crushed 
Tragedian,"  and  other  characters,  marked  by  genius 
and  intense  individuality,  he  has,  the  editor  believes, 
added  another  boon  to  the  public  by  making  this 
book  possible.  Although  its  contents  were  gleaned, 
from  time  to  time,  in  conversations  with  the  eminent 
artist  and  his  friends,  they  cannot  convey  the  genial 
glow  of  his  own  happy  words,  the  sparkle  of  his 
merry  laughter,  or  the  subtle  mimicry  which  makes 
Sothern  as  a  story-teller  justly  famous  on  two  conti- 
nents. Novertheless,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  bubble 
and  flavor  of  his  narratives  are  herein  more  or  less 
retained,  and  that  the  reader  will  be  refreshed  by  the 
frolicsome  experiences  of  such  a  frank  and  sunny 
nature. 

A  few  words  may  be  pardoned  here  in  regard  to  the 
artistic  work  of  Mr.  Sothern,  Coming  into  the  notice 
of  play-goers  at  a  period  when  the  best  talent  and 

[xi] 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

genius  of  the  century  were  represented  on  the  dram- 
atic stage,  he  achieved  a  success  which  was  indeed 
phenomenal,  in  Dundreary  ;  but  the  apparent  spon- 
taneity of  the  ludicrous  character  was  the  result  of 
patient  enduring  toil,  of  intelligent  study  and  happy 
intuition.  He  it  was  who  rounded  the  slender 
outlines  of  the  silly  lord  until  they  became  a  living 
possibility.  With  patient  elaboration,  touch  by  touch, 
with  the  skill  of  a  consummate  artist,  true  to  his  art, 
the  work  was  completed  harmoniously  perfect  in  ges- 
ture, graceful  in  movement,  and  is  a  lasting  testimony 
of  the  author's  skill,  judgment  and  genius. 

That  Mr.  Sothern's  mind  is  original  and  inventive 
his  later  work  eminently  shows.  In  "David  Garrick," 
that  production  abounding  in  delicate  tints  and  shades, 
yet  so  full  of  striking  contrasts  of  color,  where  every 
gradation  of  comedy  is  portrayed,  and  the  delineation 
of  a  many-sided  character  marvelously  rendered,  is  to 
be  found  a  striking  example  of  these  qualities.  Great, 
however,  as  is  the  character  of  Garrick  in  Mr.  Soth- 
ern's hands,  his  Fitz  Altamont,  in  the  "  Crushed  Trage- 
dian," marked  one  of  the  greatest  achievements  in  his 
career,  in  the  entire  obliteration  of  what  was  called 
his  individuality  in  all  of  his  old  characters,  and  de- 
termined his  ability  as  an  author,  no  less  than  his  ver- 
satility as  an  actor.  He  is  always  remarkable  for 
correct  instinct  in  matters  pertaining  to  his  art,  and 
never  hesitates  to  cut  himself  loose  from  stage  tradi- 
tions, whenever  they  conflict  with  his  judgment  or 
refined  taste. 

If  a  word  of  excuse  is  needed  for  this  apparent  re- 
capitulation of  some  of  Mr.  Sothern's  triumphs,  it  is  in 
the  fact  that  to  write  about  him  at  all  seems  impossi- 


INTRODUCTION.  xiii 

ble,  without  connecting  him  with  the  works  which 
have  made  him  celebrated.  Tlie  glimpses  of  the  many- 
sided  nature  of  the  man  to  be  found  in  the  pages 
of  this  book,  the  undertone  of  refinement,  the  quiet 
philosophy,  the  boyish  humor,  the  gentle  heart  over- 
flowing with  charity,  will  be  to  many  persons,  perhaps, 
a  picture  more  captivating  even  than  Dundreary, 
David  Garrick,  the  Crushed  Tragedian,  or  Sydney 
Spoonbill,  on  the  mimic  stage. 

It  should  be  stated  in  conclusion  that  whatever 
responsibility  may  attach  to  the  subject-matter  of 
the  volume  belongs  solely  to  the  undersigned.  The 
reminiscences  are  given  with  much  the  same  freedom 
as  were  the  original  off-hand  conversations  out  of 
which  the  book  has  grown,  and  the  author  here  makes 
his  acknowledgments  to  Mr.  Sothern  for  the  courtesy 
which,  even  though  reluctantly  shown,  permitted  this 
publication.  The  Editob. 


"BIRDS     OF    A    FEATHER 
FLOCK   TOGETHER." 


EDTVAKD  A.   SOTHERN. 

It  is  not  a  matter  of  wonder  that  Sothern  is  spoken 
of  as  "  a  prince  of  good  fellows."  He  is  magnetic  in 
manner,  humorous  in  speech,  rich  in  reminiscence, 
responsive  and  sympathetic,  a  good  listener,  an  equally 
good  talker,  and  always  sparkling  like  a  newly-opened 
bottle  of  champagne.  With  such  a  battery  of  social 
forces,  added  to  ability  of  a  high  order  in  the  rep- 
resentation of  the  peculiar  characters  with  which  his 
name  is  now  identified  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic, 
professional  success  has  been  a  legitimate  result.  In 
person  Mr.  Sothern  is  probably  five  feet  ten  inches 
in  height,  and  put  together  as  if  intended  for  hard 
work.  He  is  wiry,  elastic,  as  restless  as  a  bundle  of 
nerves  under  galvanic  influence,  and  would  be  marked 
in  any  crowd  as  a  man  possessed  of  strong  individuality 

and  unusual  personal  characteristics.     In  age  the  actor 

[15] 


i6  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

has  been  so  well  preserved  that,  like  Tim  Linkinwater, 
he  might  have  been  born  one  hundred  and  fifty  years 
old  and  gradually  come  down  to  five  and  twenty,  for 
he  seems  younger  every  birthday  than  he  was  the  year 
before.  In  truth,  however,  he  is  fifty-one  years  of  age, 
and  milord  chucklingly  refers  to  the  fact  that,  having 
come  into  the  world  on  the  first  of  April,  "  Dundreary  " 
and  his  "Brother  Sam"  are  naturally  April  fools. 
His  face,  undisturbed  by  a  wrinkle  or  a  line  of  trouble, 
and  habitually  quiet,  is  still  lighted  up  under  a  mass  of 
beautiful  white  hair  by  a  pair  of  bright  bluish-gray 
eyes,  which  look  as  if  they  were  undergoing  continual 
drill  to  keep  them  in  proper  subjection.  It  is  a 
countenance  full  of  expression — now  as  imperturbable 
as  if  it  were  carved  out  of  lignum  vitie,  a  perfect  dead 
wall,  and  again  filled  with  a  crowd  of  welcomes 
shining  out  of  every  smile.  A  long  gray  moustache 
hides  the  mouth,  but  fails  to  conceal  the  many  little 
lights  that  hover  ai'ound  the  corners,  especially  when 
the  mental  fireworks  are  let  off,  and  one  begins  to  feel 
as  if  he  were  an  aurora  borealis.  Tidy  in  dress,  with 
little  or  no  display  of  jewelry,  socially  a  Goldsmith 
Maid  going  at  her  level  best,  ingenuous,  open  and  frank 
in  the  acknowledgment  of  a  foible  or  an  error,  such  is 
an  off-hand  pen  portrait  of  Edward  A.  Sothern,  the 
actor. 

As  a  conversationalist  Mr.  Sothern  has  few  superiors, 
inasmuch  as  he  combines  in  a  rare  degree  memory, 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  17 

imagination,  humor,  and  a  dramatic  power  of  descrip- 
tion that  invests  with  a  charm  whatever  he  may  nar- 
rate. It  is  at  the  head  of  his  own  table,  however, 
and  in  his  own  home,  when  surrounded  by  suggestive 
and  sympathetic  guests,  that  he  is  always  to  be  heard 
to  the  best  advantage.  Under  conditions  of  this  char- 
acter, covering  a  series  of  weeks,  most  of  the  reminis- 
cences in  the  present  volume  have  been  seized  upon 
and  committed  to  paper.  Justice  to  the  narrator  com- 
pels the  remark  that  the  incidents,  as  written,  but 
faintly  represent  the  vivacity  of  the  originals,  for  it  is 
not  within  the  province  of  printed  thought  to  portray 
the  sparkle  of  the  eye  or  the  unctuousness  of  manner 
that  marks  the  perfect  telling  of  his  stories. 

The  parlors  of  Mr.  Sothern  at  the  Gramercy  Park 
Hotel,  in  New  York,  are  familiar  to  hundreds  of  the 
most  noted  citizens  of  the  country,  and  these  have 
represented  all  of  the  professions,  from  the  ballet  dan- 
cer to  the  clergyman.  Once  within  the  suite,  the  in- 
vited guest  is  expected  to  be  thoroughly  at  home  ;  if 
a  musician,  to  exercise  to  his  heart's  content  upon  the 
grand  piano  ;  if  an  artist,  to  enjoy  the  works  of  art 
that  abound  ;  and  if  a  hon  vivant,  to  make  merry  with 
the  spacious  sideboard.  In  every  sense,  the  hospital- 
ity is  refined,  and  the  generosity  unrestrained. 

It  was  only  a  few  days  prior  to  the  beginning  of  these 
pages,  that  a  number  of  gentlemen  being  assembled 
here,  one  of  them  asked  Mr.  Sothern  if  he  had  any 


i8  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

objection  to  relate  some  of   the   cii'cumstances  con- 
nected with  his  early  career  and  subsequent  success. 

"  None  whatever,  only," — turning  to  a  collection  of 
photographs  on  the  mantle-piece,  and  picking  up  three 
or  four,  he  replied, — "  it's  a  long,  long  story;  for  a  mac 
with  a  twenty-year-old  lad  like  that,  who  is  already 
on  the  stage,  another  like  this,  who  is  a  student  in  an 
English  college  of  art,  and  a  girl  of  twelve,  scarcely 
knows  where  to  begin  to  recite  his  memories.  Fill 
your  glasses,  however,  and  listen. 

THE  ACTOR'S  EARLY  LIFE. 

"  I  was  educated  for  some  years  by  a  private  tutor, 
with  the  queer  name  of  Dr.  Redhead,  the  rector  of  an 
English  church,  it  being  understood  that  I  should  be- 
come a  surgeon.  I  attended  all  the  operations  for  a 
couple  of  years  in  the  Middlesex  Hospital,  London, 
but  the  disgusting  scenes  of  the  dissecting  room  so 
sickened  me  that  I  abandoned  the  work.  After  that  I 
studied  theology  for  two  or  three  years,  and  theologi- 
cal books  are  even  to-day  my  favorite  reading.  With- 
out going  too  deeply  into  the  matter,  I  may  say  that 
my  investigations  in  this  direction  and  many  contro- 
versies with  clergymen  threw  a  wet  blanket  on  my  am- 
bition to  represent  the  church  militant,  and  determ- 
ined the  bent  of  my  mind  in  another  direction.  It 
was  not  long  before  I  commenced  the  study  of  the 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  19 

old  dramas,  and  as  an  amateur  appeared  at  the  The- 
atre Royiil,  Island  of  Jersey,  in  the  character  of 
Othello,  on  the  occasion  of  a  benefit.  Although  it  was 
an  extremely  bad  performance  on  ray  part,  the  man- 
ager offered  me  an  engagement  at  a  salary  of  thirty- 
five  shillings  a  week.  I  indignantly  refused  it,  and 
the  consequence  was  that  a  little  while  afterward,  I 
was  obliged  to  accept  a  salary  of  fifteen  shillings  a 
week.  I  was  then  about  twenty-one  years  of  age. 
On  my  arrival  at  the  theatre,  in  Guernsey,  where  I  had 
been  engaged,  I  found  the  play  of  '  Hamlet '  an- 
nounced for  the  fii'st  night,  and  that  I  was  cast  for 
Laertes,  the  Ghost,  and  the  Second  Actor.  Jupiter ! 
how  staggered  I  was  at  that  !  I  had  a  memorandum 
stuck  on  the  wings  to  tell  me  when  to  make  my  changes. 
Some  practical  joker  took  the  memorandum  down, 
and  the  consequence  was,  that  relying  on  my  memory 
I  was  continually  bounding  on  the  stage  in  the  wrong 
character.  Oh,  the  agony  of  that  night !  Fancy  the 
Ghost  going  on  to  act  as  Laertes  !  I  was  immediately 
dismissed  for  incapacity.  In  fact,  that  entire  portion 
of  my  professional  career  was  marked  by  frequent  dis- 
missals for  incapacity. 

A  REMIinSCENCE  OF  CHARLES  KEAN. 

"  A  few  months  after  this  I  was   playing  at  Wey- 
mouth, England.     The  'Scotch  Greys'  were  quartered 


20  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

at  Dorchester,  a  few  miles  distant,  and  Charles  Kean 
was  on  a  visit  to  some  of  the  officers.  A  friend  of 
mine  persuaded  Kean  to  come  and  see  me  play 
*  Claude  Melnotte  '  and  *  Used  Up.'  The  next  morn- 
ing I  received  a  letter  from  Kean,  which,  by  the  way,  I 
have  now,  saying  that  he  heard  I  was  a  novice,  and 
strongly  advising  me  to  adopt  the  stage  as  a  profession. 
He  also  kindly  pointed  out  my  many  faults,  but 
soothed  me  with  the  remark  that  I  had  great  origin- 
ality. A  year  after  this,  when  acting  in  Portsmouth, 
I  received  another  letter  from  Mr.  Kean,  asking  if  it 
would  be  convenient  for  me  to  play  the  same  charac- 
ter in  which  he  had  seen  me,  adding  that  he  would 
send  a  friend  to  give  his  judgment  concerning  my 
progress  and  improvement.  Unfortunately,  however, 
I  lost  the  opportunity.  From  Portsmouth  I  went 
to  Wolverhampton  and  Birmingham,  my  highest 
salary  being  thirty-five  shillings  a  week,  for  which  I 
played  Romeos,  Mercutios,  and  all  the  juvenile  and 
light  comedy  business.  I  then  had  a  season  of  broad 
low  comedy  parts.  After  this  Mr.  Lacy,  the  dram- 
atic publisher  of  London,  made  me  an  offer  of 
$25  a  week  to  go  to  Boston,  where  I  opened  in  Dr. 
Pangloss  and  a  low  farce  called  *  John  Dobbs.'  My 
failure  in  Pangloss  was  complete,  although  the  audi- 
ence were  kind  enough,  because  I  was  a  stranger,  to 
call  me  before  the  curtain  and  so  give  me  encour- 
agement.     The    papers  cut  me   up   mercilessly  and 


ABOUT    SOTHERN,  21 

unanimously,  but  I  had  just  enough  common  sense 
to  know  that  their  remarks  were  strictly  true.  I 
was  again  dismissed  for  incapacity.  I  then  went  to 
the  Howard  Athenaeum  to  play  juvenile  parts,  at  a 
reduced  salary.  They  dismissed  me  again  for  inca- 
pacity. 

FIRST  EXPERIENCE  IN  NEW  YORK. 

"  Discovering  that  Boston  was  not  exactly  the 
field  for  success,  I  came  to  New  York,  and  applied 
to  Mr.  Barnum,  who  was  then  running  his  Museum 
where  the  Herald  building  now  stands  ;  told  him  in 
a  straightforward  manner  all  that  had  occurred,  and 
asked  him  to  give  me  an  opportunity  of  playing 
twice  a  day.  I  felt  that  all  I  wanted  was  constant 
practice  and  experience.  He  engaged  me  at  a  sal- 
ary of  $20  a  Av^eek,  and  a  little  while  afterwards 
raised  it  to  $25.  I  did  play  twice  a  day,  and  on 
Thanksgiving  Day  six  times ;  but  it  did  me  an 
enormous  deal  of  good.  After  that  Mr.  Marshall, 
of  the  Broadway,  engaged  me  for  $40  a  week,  to 
play  here  and  at  the  National  Theatre,  Washington. 
I  mention  these  details  only  to  show  you  what  we  of 
the  old  school  had  to  undergo  in  order  to  achieve  suc- 
cess. The  very  fact  that  we  were  obliged  to  play  so 
many  parts  created  a  repose  which,  it  seems  to  me,  few 
of  our  modern  actors  possess.     After  this  I  went  to 


2  2  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

Baltimore  under  the  raHiiagement  of  Laura  Keene,  at 
a  salary  of  $50  a  week,  and  from  there  transferred  my 
allegiance  to  Mr.  Wallaek,  with  whom  I  remained  four 
years.  During  this  time  I  was  waiting  for  an 
opportunity,  and  in  every  piece  produced  I  always 
studied  such  parts  as  Lester  Wallaek  and  Charles 
Walcott  were  cast  for,  and  prepared  myself  at  any 
moment  to  take  their  places.  My  stars  !  how  I  used 
to  work  in  those  days  ;  often  until  three  and  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  four  or  five  hours  a  day 
when  there  was  no  rehearsal.  The  long  looked  for 
occasion,  however,  never  occurred  until  Miss  Matilda 
Heron's  engagement  to  play  Camille.  Every  one  pre- 
dicted that  sh,e  would  make  a  fiasco.  Three  days 
before  its  production  Mr.  Wallaek  asked  me  if  I 
could  study  the  part  of  Armand  Duval  in  time.  To  his 
amazement  I  informed  him  that  I  was  already  'up' 
in  it,  and  I  went  to  t4ie  rehearsal  the  next  morning. 
Miss  Heron's  success  was  pronounced,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life  I  received  several  enthusiastic  *  calls.' 
This  was  my  first  upward  move  to  that  position  in  the 
profession  to  which  I  had  aspired  for  years.  It  was 
only  a  week  or  two  before  this  that  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  to  return  to  England  and  seek  some  other  em- 
ployment. Leaving  Wallack's  I  went  to  Laura 
Keene's  Theatre,  in  this  city,  now  known  as  the 
Olympic. 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  21 


LORD  DUNDREARY. 


"Here  was  produced  for  the  first  time  the  piece 
known  as  the  '  American  Cousin,'  by  Tom  Taylor.  I 
was  cast  for  the  part  of  Lord  Dundreary,  a  fourth-rate 
old  man,  with  only  forty-seven  lines  to  speak.  I  re- 
fused the  part  at  first,  but  finally  agreed  with  Mr. 
Burnett,  the  stage  manager,  to  play  on  the  condition 
that  I  should  entirely  rewrite  it.  Miss  Keene  was  also 
full  of  objections,  which  however  she  finally  yielded. 
In  rewi-iting  the  part  I  threw  into  it  everything  that 
struck  me  as  wildly  absurd.  There  is  not  a  single 
look,  word  or  act  in  Lord  Dundreary  that  has  not  been 
suggested  to  me  by  people  whom  I  have  known  since 
I  was  five  years  of  age.  It  has  been  said  that  I  have 
cut  the  piece  down  for  the  purpose  of  Dundrearjazing 
the  performance.  This  is  not  true.  I  have  simply 
cut  out  the  bad  cellar  scene,  a  drunken  act, 
which  would  not  now  be  popular,  and  so  rearranged 
the  play  that  instead  of  seventeen  scenes,  which  it  had 
when  it  came  from  the  hands  of  Tom  Taylor,  it  is  in 
four  acts  of  one  scene  each. 

"  My  part  the  first  ni^t  was  by  no  means  a  pro- 
nounced success.  In  fact,  it  was  two  or  three  weeks 
l)efore  the  people  began  to  understand  what  I  was 
about.  I  had  acted  so  many  serious  parts  before  that 
the  public  evidently  considered  that  every  tone  of  my 


24  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

voice  ought  be  pathetic,   just  as  they  now  seem  to 
think  that  every  tone  represents  some  mad  eccentri 
city." 

THE  DUNDREARY  HOP. 

"  How,"  asked  one  of  the  guests,  "  did  you  happer 
to  hit  on  that  strange  hop,  skip  and  jump  business^ 
which  has  been  made  so  effective  in  your  delineation  of 
the  character?" 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  Sothern  laughingly,  "  it  was  the 
simplest  thing  in  the  world;  it  was  a  mere  accident. 
I  have  naturally  an  elastic  disposition,  and  during  a 
rehearsal  one  cold  morning  I  was  hopping  at  the  back 
of  the  stage  when  Miss  Keene  sarcastically  inquired  if 
I  was  going  to  introduc:)  that  in  Dundreary.  The 
actors  and  actresses  standing  around  laughed,  and 
taking  the  cue,  I  replied,  '  Yes,  Miss  Keene,  that's  my 
view  of  the  character.'  Having  said  this,  I  was  bound 
to  stick  to  it,  and  as  I  progressed  with  the  rehearsal,  I 
found  that  the  whole  company,  including  scene  shifters 
and  property  men,  were  roaring  with  laughter  at  my 
infernal  nonsense.  When  I  saw  that  the  public  ac- 
cepted the  satire  I  toned  it  down  to  the  broad  caricature 
which  may  be  seen  at  the  present  day  by  any  one  who 
has  a  quick  sense  of  the  absurd. 

BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER 
"  Tou  remember  that  in  one  act  I  have  a  byplay  on 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  27 

my  fingers,  on  which  I  count  from  one  to  ten,  and 
then  reversing,  begin  with  the  right  thumb  and  count 
ten,  nine,  eight,  seven,  six  and  five  are  eleven.  This 
has  frequently  been  denounced  by  critics  as  utterly 
out  of  place  in  the  character,  but  I  took  the  incident 
from  actual  life,  having  seen  a  notoriously  clever  man 
on  the  English  turf  as  quick  as  lightning  in  calculating 
odds  completely  puzzled  by  this  ridiculous  problem. 
My  distortion  of  the  old  aphorisms  has  likewise 
been  frequently  cavilled  at  as  too  nonsensical  for 
an  educated  man.  Now  see  how  easily  this  thought 
was  suggested.  A  number  of  us  some  yeai's  ago  were 
taking  supper  in  Halifax  after  a  performance,  when  a 
gentleman  who  has  now  retired  from  the  stage,  but 
who  is  living  in  New  York,  suddenly  entered  the  room 
and  said,  '  Oh,  yes,  I  see  ;  birds  of  a  feather,  &c.'  The 
thought  instantly  struck  me  on  the  weak  side,  and, 
winking  at  my  brother  actors  and  assuming  utter 
ignorance,  I  said,  '  What  do  you  mean  by  birds  of  a 
feather?'  He  looked  rather  staggered  and  replied, 
'What,  have  you  never  heard  of  the  old  English 
proverb,  "  Birds  of  a  feather  flock  together  "  ?'  Eveiy 
one  shook  his  head.  He  then  said: — '  I  never  met  such 
a  lot  of  ignoramuses  in  my  life,'  That  was  my  cue, 
and  I  began  to  turn  the  proverb  inside  out.  I  said  to 
him,  '  There  never  could  have  been  such  a  proverb — 
birds  of  a  feather  !  the  idea  of  a  whole  flock  of  birds 
only   having    one    feather !      The    thing    is    utterly 


28  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

ridiculous.  Besides,  the  poor  bird  that  had  that  feather 
must  have  flown  on  one  side;  consequently  as  the  other 
birds  couldn't  fly  at  all,  they  couldn't  flock  together. 
But  even  accepting  the  absurdity,  if  they  flocked  at 
all  they  must  flock  together,  as  no  bird  could  possibly 
be  such  a  damned  fool  as  to  go  into  a  corner  and  try 
and  flock  by  himself.'  Our  visitor  began  to  see  the 
point  of  the  logic,  and  was  greeted  with  roars  of 
laughter.  I  made  a  memorandum  of  the  incident, 
and  years  afterward  elaborated  the  idea  in  writing 
Dundreary.  I  have  quires  upon  quires  of  memoranda 
of  a  similar  character  ;  but  whenever  I  play  the  part 
the  public  seem  so  disappointed  at  not  hearing  the  old 
lines  that  I  fear  I  shall  never  have  the  opportunity  of 
getting  them  to  accept  what  would  really  be  a  much 
better  version, 

A  NEW  DUNDREARY. 

"I  have  hit  upon  a  plan,  however,  which  I  think 
may  make  this  a  safe  experiment.  I  have  now  in  hand 
a  three-act  farcical  comedy,  entitled  '  The  Founder  of 
the  Family,'  in  which  I  shall  play  the  father  of  Dun- 
dreary and  Brother  Sam.  Of  course  I  have  taken  the 
character  from  myself,  and  from  the  fact  that  I  am  an 
exceedingly  nervous  man  and  thoroughly  imbued  Avith 
the  characteristics  of  the  original  Dundreary,  I  shall 
be  able  to   make   it  one   of  the  most  ridiculous   of 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  29 

absent-minded  and  eccentric  creations  on  the  stage. 
In  London  the  success  of  Dandreary  was  immediate, 
the  character  striking  the  humorous  side  of  the  people. 
As  a  proof  of  the  truth  of  the  satire  the  Theatre 
Royal,  Haymarket,  was  crowded  for  496  nights  with 
the  aristocracy  of  England.  During  this  period  I 
found  my  type  of  '  Brother  Sam.'  He  was  a  man  with 
only  £400  a  year,  who  mixed  in  the  very  highest 
circles  of  society.  There  was  not  a  blemish  on  his 
name,  and  yet,  strangely  enough,  he  lived  at  the  rate 
of  £5,000  or  £0,000  a  year.  Of  course  I  added  to  his 
peculiarities  others  which  I  saw  in  scores  of  people 
there.  '  Brother  Sam '  was  received  at  the  same 
theatre  with  enthusiasm. 

"DAVID  GARRICK." 

"Previous  to  this,  however,  I  had  determined  to 
follow  Dundreary  with  '  David  Garrick,'  as  Thackeray 
and  John  Leech,  both  dear  old  friends  of  mine, 
strongly  endeavored  to  impress  upon  me  the  fact  that 
it  was  utterly  impossible  to  make  a  great  success  with 
my  second  impersonation.  Buckstone,  the  manager, 
did  his  utmost  also  to  prevent  my  playing  'David 
Garrick,'  believing  that  I  could  not  depict  pathos  ;  he 
did  not  know  the  school  through  which  I  had  jjassed  in 
America.  The  critics  cut  me  up  root  and  branch,  but 
'  Garrick '  grew  nightly  in  attractiveness  and  became  a 


30  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

success.  It  was  not  owing  to  my  performance,  how- 
ever. The  piece  was  saved  by  the  exquisite  acting  of 
Miss  Nellie  Moore,  who  is  now  dead.  She  played  the 
part  of  Ada.  Neither  the  public  nor  the  press  were  pre- 
pared for  the  dangerous  jump  I  made  from  Dundreary 
to  Garrick.  They  evidently  waited  for  the  fun-making 
points,  and  I  had  to  compromise  by  rewriting  the 
second  act  of  '  Garrick,'  which,  you  will  remember,  is 
the  drunken  scene,  in  order  to  secure  the  humorous 
effect.  During  the  last  fourteen  years  I  have  played 
it  much  more  frequently  than  Dundreary,  both  in 
England  and  America.  It  may  seem  egotistical  to  say 
so,  but  John  Oxenford,  the  famous  London  critic,  who 
is  now  dead,  in  an  article  in  the  Saturday  Revieic,  was 
kind  enough  to  write  that  I  ought  also  to  be  called  the 
author  as  well  as  the  creator  of  '  Brother  Sam.'  I  like- 
wise wrote  the  love  scene  in  '  Home.' " 

THE    AUTHORSHIP  OF  "HOME"  AKD  "DAVID 
GARRICK." 

In  this  connection  it  may  be  interesting  to  the  reader 
to  perase  the  following  letter,  inasmuch  as  it  will  re- 
move any  doubt  concerning  Mr.  Sothern's  share  in  the 
authorship  both  of  "Home"  and  of  "David  Garrick": 

Pakk  Theatre,  New  York,  Nov.  2,  1877. 
To  the  Editor  of  the  Herald: 
Having  been  interviewed  by  a  Herald  reporter  some 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  31 

weeks  ago  I  casually  mentioned  that  I  had  written  the 
"love  scene"  in  Tom  Robertson's  comedy  entitled 
"  Home."  The  interview  was  copied  by  the  London 
Era  and  elicited  the  following  somewhat  offensive 
reply  from  Mr.  T.  W.  S.  Robertson,  the  late  Tom 
Robertson's  son  : 

To  the  Editor  of  the  Era  (London)  : 

Sir — In  Mr.  Sothern's  word  of  mouth  biography  of 
himself,  which  appeared  in  last  week's  edition  of  the 
Era^  he  states  that  he  wrote  the  love  scene  in  "  Home  " 
at  the  request  of  Mr.  Tom  Robertson.  To  this  asser- 
tion I  beg  to  give  the  most  unqualified  denial.  Is  it 
likely  that  Mr.  Tom  Robertson  would  have  allowed 
any  man  to  write  the  "  love  scene,"  of  all  scenes,  in  a 
piece  of  his?  Mr.  Sothern's  imagination  has  been 
known  to  carry  him  away  at  times,  and  in  this  case 
considerably.  It  would  not  be  just  to  my  father's 
memory  to  allow  Mr.  Sothern's  remark  to  pass  un- 
noticed. All  that  he  can  claim  for  his  own,  as  regards 
"  Home,"  is  an  unlimited  and  unnecessary  number  of 
"gags."  Apologizing  for  troubling  you,  I  am,  yours 
truly,  T.  W.  S.  Robeetson. 

Standard  Theatre,  Bishopsgate, 
Wednesday,  Oct.  2,  1877. 

In  response  to  the  foregoing  remarkable  letter  I 
have  only  to  add  that  my  original  statement  is  em- 
phatically true.     Mr.  Robertson  never  was   satisfied 


32  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

with  his  version  of  "  Home,"  and  on  several  occasions 
appealed  to  me  to  make  such  alterations  and  improve- 
ments as  might  be  suggested.  I  did  so,  and  the  "  love 
scene,"  in  the  second  act,  with  the  exception  of  a  few 
lines,  is  the  result.  That  it  likewise  proved  a  success 
is  attested  by  the  commendation  which  it  has  every- 
where received  when  played.  The  part  that  I  act  in 
"  Home  "  requires  no  "  gags,"  and  would  not  admit  of 
them.  Hence  the  reference  to  the  term  by  Mr.  T.  W. 
S.  Robertson  is  uncalled  for  and  offensive.  I  have  too 
large  an  admiration  for  the  memory  of  the  dead 
author  to  say  a  word  that  could  be  construed  as  a  re- 
flection on  his  memory,  but  justice  to  myself  requires 
that  I  should  contradict  the  mis-statements  and  correct 
the  ignorance  of  his  son.  The  following  unsolicited 
note  from  my  friend,  Mr.  Lester  Wallack,  will  doubt- 
less set  the  matter  at  rest : 

"Wallace's  Theatre,  October  29,  1877. 
Mr  Deae  Sotheex — Permit  me  to  bear  testimony 
to  the  truth  of  your  statement  with  regard  to  the 
late  Tom  Robertson's  play  of  "  Home."  The  "  love 
scene  "  in  the  second  act  was  conceived  and  written  by 
you.  This  Mr.  Robertson  told  me  himself.  And  when 
you  so  kindly  gave  me  the  printed  book  of  the  comedy 
yonr  scene  was  inserted  in  MS.,  and  a  capital  scene  it 
!«.     Always  yours  truly, 

Lester  Wallack. 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  33 

I  have  only  to  add  that  Mr.  Tom  Robertson  not  un- 
frequently  fell  short  of  his  own  ideal  in  his  work. 
His  play  of  "  David  Garrick,"  as  can  be  proved  by  Mr. 
J.  B.  Buckstone,  the  manager  of  the  Theatre  Royal, 
Haymarket,  London,  was  literally  unsuitable  for  rep- 
resentation until  he  and  I  rewrote  a  considerable  part 
of  it,  and  even  now  I  am  from  time  to  time  engaged 
in  making  further  improvement.  The  manner  of  Mr. 
T.  W.  S.  Robertson  in  addressing  the  public  demands 
explanation,  and  until  it  is  made  he  cannot  worthily 
wear  the  title  of  a  gentleman.  I  am,  sir,  yours  obedi- 
ently, E.  A.  SOTHEEN. 

HISTORY  OF  "  DAVID  GARRICK  " 

The  host  being  further  questioned  concerning  the 
history  of  the  play  of  "  David  Garrick,"  and  the  man- 
ner in  which  it  came  to  be  put  upon  the  stage,  Mr. 
Sothern  replied  : 

"* David  Garrick'  was  translated  from  a  German 
piece  called  '  Doctor  Garrick '  by  Tom  Robertson.  It 
was  adapted  by  two  French  dramatists,  one  of  whom 
made  a  three-act  comedy,  and  the  other  a  one-act  farce. 
The  translation  by  Robertson  was  a  very  rough  one, 
and  he  sold  it  to  Mr.  Lacy,  the  dramatic  publisher, 
for  £10.  Lacy  subsequently  endeavored  to  dispose  of 
the  manuscript,  but  it  was  rejected  by  all  the  man- 
agers in  London.     No  one  would  touch  it,  and  he  kept 


34  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

*  David  Garrick '  in  his  drawer  for  eight  years.  It 
was  during  this  period  that  I  became  acquainted  with 
Robertson  and  formed  a  close  and  intimate  friendship 
which  endured  until  the  poor  fellow's  death.  He 
told  me  that  if  I  would  play  a  piece  of  his,  it  would 
be  the  beginning  of  his  fortune,  and  day  after  day  we 
sat  together  contriving  and  discussing  plots.  The 
result  was  the  production  of  '  Society,'  which  was 
eventually  performed  at  the  Prince  of  Wales'  Theatre. 
Before  this,  however,  I  had  read  it  to  Buckstone,  the 
manager  of  the  Haymarket,  who  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  my  part  was  not  strong  enough  to  make  a 
success.  Acting  on  his  advice  I  reluctantly  returned 
the  manuscript  to  Robertson.  It  was  then  that  he 
found  a  purchaser  in  Miss  Marie  Wilton — now  Mrs. 
Bancroft — who,  as  every  one  knows,  played  it  with 
great  success  at  the  Prince  of  Wales'.  Mr.  Bancroft, 
who  played  the  part  which  was  intended  for  me,  cer- 
tainly made  more  of  it  than  I  could  possibly  have  done. 
Robertson  felt  quite  low-spirited  over  the  rejection  of 
the  play  by  Buckstone,  notwithstanding  my  constant 
endeavor  to  give  him  encouragement. 

"  In  the  course  of  a  conversation  one  day  he  men- 
tioned incidentally  that  many  years  ago  he  had  trans- 
lated a  German  comedy  entitled  '  Doctor  Davy,'  and  re- 
cited the  plot  to  me.  It  was  so  slight  and  thread-like, 
however,  that  an  ordinary  page  of  note  paper  would 
have  sufficed  to  devscribe  the  whole  thing.     Notwith- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  35 

standing  this,  I  was  struck  by  the  simplicity  of  the 
story,  and  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  contained  the 
elements  of  success  in  permitting  a  certain  kind 
of  character  acting  which  I  believed  could  be  made 
attractive  by  reason  of  its  novelty.  When  the  piece 
was  read  to  Buckstone,  he  at  first  refused  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  it,  but  I  finally  persuaded 
him  to  put  it  on  the  stage.  Rehearsal  after  rehearsal 
took  place,  a  vast  amount  of  alteration  was  made — 
and,  by-the-by,  Buckstone  never  omits  to  give  me 
credit  for  re-writing  as  I  mentioned  before  nearly  the 
whole  of  the  second  act — and  when  it  was  finally  pro- 
duced under  the  name  of  *  David  Garrick,'  it  met  with 
a  reception  as  flattering  as  the  success  was  unequivocal. 
That's  the  history  of  *  David  Garrick.' 

THE   "CRUSHED  TRAGEDIAIT." 

"  In  my  judgment,  however,  *  The  Crushed  Trage- 
dian,' my  latest  and  newest  part,  if  not  the  best  in  my 
repertoire,  is  likely  to  command  popular  favor  at  once 
wherever  performed,  and  to  retain  its  hold  upon  the 
stage  for  many  years.  It  is  replete  with  pathos  and 
yet  gives  the  leading  actor  an  opportunity  for  very 
strong  character  representation.  It  was  originally 
produced  in  London  under  the  title  of  the  *  Prompter's 
Box,'  the  part  of  the  prompter  being  personated  by 
Benjamin  Webster.     As  I  was  acting  at  the  Haymarket 


36  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

Theatre  at  the  time,  I  could  not  see  the  piece  per- 
formed. Mr.  Byron  is  the  author.  Afterwards,  when 
in  Philadelphia,  a  friend  of  mine  asked  me  why  I  had 
never  played  Fitz  Altamont,  and  informed  me  of  the 
points  of  the  part.  I  telegraphed  to  Byron  for  a  copy, 
read  it  carefully  and  carae  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
could  be  so  elaborated  as  to  exactly  fit  my  style.  It 
appeared  that  if  I  could  good-naturedly  satirize  the  old 
school  of  acting,  contrasting  it  through  the  several 
characters,  with  the  present  school,  I  should  arrive  at 
the  same  effects  in  another  manner  which  were  produced 
in  Dundreary  ;  that  is  to  say,  that  tliough  stigmatized 
by  everybody  as  a  very  bad  tragedian,  I  should  gain 
the  sympathy  of  the  audience  in  the  satire,  however 
much  they  might  laugh  at  my  peculiarities.  The  char- 
acter is  not  an  imitation  of  any  actor  I  ever  have  seen. 
I  have  simply  boiled  down  all  the  old  school  tragedians 
as  I  boiled  down  all  the  fops  I  had  met  before  I  played 
Dundreary.  I  tested  the  piece  in  Philadelphia  and 
its  success  was  immediate.  Still  I  am  attached  to  my 
first  love.  Dundreary,  and  from  time  to  time  during 
my  professional  career  shall  continue  to  present  him 
to  the  public." 

A  CRITICISM  OF  THE   "CRUSHED." 

The  following  criticism  is  from  the  Philadelphia 
Inquirer  (January,  1878),  and  is  not  more  graceful 
than  it  is  just : 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  37 

"MB.  SOTHERN  VS.    'THE  CRUSHED  TRAGEDIAN.' 

"  Mr.  Sothern's  impersonation  of  Fitz  Altamont,  the 
Crushed  tragedian,  is  the  more  impressive  the  oftener 
it  is  seen,  and  the  more  attentively  it  is  studied.  To 
fully  appreciate  its  surpassing  merits  as  a  dramatic 
realization,  it  is  necessary  to  do  something  more  than 
look  and  laugh.  It  is  only  when  "we  have  seen  Mr. 
Sothern's  performances  so  often  that  we  can  forego 
the  enjoyment  of  the  playgoer,  to  watch  with  the  eyes 
of  a  student,  that  the  artistic  power  of  the  creation  is 
revealed.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  do  we  begin  to 
understand  what  a  creation  his  Fitz  Altamont  really 
is. 

"  Much  has  been  said  of  the  wonderful  versatility  of 
the  actor  who  could,  from  Dundreary,  transform 
himself  with  such  magical  completeness  into  that  utter 
antithesis  of  the  English  fop,  the  sombre,  misanthropic, 
theatrical  Altamont  ;  but  this  versatility,  note- 
worthy as  it  is,  is  one  of  the  least  remarkable  char- 
acteristics of  the  impersonation.  Mr.  Sothern's  im- 
personation shows  in  a  greater  degree,  perhaps,  than 
anything  he  has  ever  done  before  ;  but  the  greatest 
merit  of  his  Fitz  Altamont  lies  in  this  :  out  of  a  mere 
thing  of  shreds  and  patches,  out  of  a  stage  tradition,  a 
conventional  laughing  stock,  a  popular  butt,  he  has 
created  a  living,  sentient  human  being.  Into  the  dry 
bones  of  a  common  caricature  he  has  breathed  vitality. 


38  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"For  it  is  just  as  impossible  not  to  recognize  in  the 
'  crushed '  a  fellow  being,  having  the  same  feelings 
and  affections  as  ourselves,  as  it  is  not  to  laugh  at  the 
strange  eccentricities  which  distinguish  him.  '  Fitz ' 
is  human  to  begin  with,  and  so  commands  our  sym- 
pathies. He  is  also  in  dead  earnest.  He  believes  in 
his  own  powers  with  all  his  might  and  main.  His 
vanity  is  equal  to  that  which  consumed  the  heart  of 
Malvolio,  and  his  vanity  impels  him  as  it  impelled 
the  cross-gartered  steward,  to  believe  anything  of 
himself  and  his  capacities.  From  some  reason  or  other 
Fitz  Altamont  has  taken  up  the  idea  that  he  is  a 
tragic  genius,  and  he  believes  that  with  all  his  heart 
and  soul.  When  he  announces  himself  as  being 
crushed  it  is  with  the  utmost  sincerity.  The  spec- 
tator knows  better.  He  knows  that  his  vanity  is  Al- 
tamont's  sole  stock  in  trade,  and  thus  the  character 
becomes  laughter-provoking. 

"  And  how  laughable  it  is,  only  those  who  have  seen 
Mr.  Sothern  play  it  can  form  an  idea.  With  what 
elaboration  of  detail  does  the  actor  embody  his  con- 
ception !  There  is  not  a  gesture,  not  an  intonation, 
not  a  movement,  but  seems  to  illustrate  the  character 
portrayed.  Pie  strides  across  the  stage,  and  it  is  as 
though  he  were  wading  through  a  sea  of  gore  ;  he 
mutters  to  himself,  *  Ha  !  ha  !'  and  you  know  that  he 
is  cursing  fate  with  a  bitterness  loud  and  deep  ;  he 
scowls,  and  it  is  plain  that  he  thinks  his  frown  is  as 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  39 

majestic  as  Olympian  Jove  himself  ;  he  flings  himself 
in  a  chair  as  though  wearied  with  such  a  continual 
battling  with  destiny ;  he  leans,  in  contemplation, 
against  the  mantel-piece,  and  it  is  manifest  that  he  is 
philosophically  pondering,  a  la  'Hamlet,'  upon  the 
vanity  of  the  world  and  its  lack  of  appreciation  for 
genius,  and  always  and  in  all  things  poor  Altamont 
is  exquisitely,  indescribably  ludicrous. 

"  But  Avhatever  he  says  or  does,  no  faintest  suspicion 
that  he  is  making  himself  ridiculous  ever  crosses  his 
mind.  He  is  without  the  least  scintilla  of  humor,  and, 
acting  as  he  is  all  the  time,  he  is  all  the  time  in  deadly 
earnest.  It  is  the  world  that  is  out  of  joint,  not  he. 
Mr.  Sothern's  impersonation  of  '  De  Lacy  Fitz  Alta- 
mont '  is  no  less  an  acquisition  to  the  dramatic  world 
than  a  triumph  of  the  actor's  talent. " 

THE   "HORNET'S  NEST." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  the  fact,  "  inquired  a  gen- 
tleman, "  that  a  play  so  brim  full  of  wit  as  your  '  Hor- 
net's Nest'  is  comparatively  a  failure,  after  such  a 
successful  representation  as  that  of  the  'Crushed 
Tragedian?'" 

"From  my  point  of  judgment,  it  is  not  a  failure. 
Much  of  the  success  of  an  English  play  is  due  to  na- 
tional temperament.  The  humor  that  affects  an  Eng- 
lish audience  is  to  a  certain  extent  unlike  that  which 


40  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

influences  an  American  audience.  What  produces 
loud  laughter  in  one  country,  merely  creates  a  ripple 
of  merriment  in  the  other,  and  vice  versa.  I  have 
noticed  that  nearly  all  of  the  critics  on  the  American 
press  have  bestowed  generous  praise  on  the  '  Hornet's 
Nest,'  and  especially  on  my  part  of  Sydney  Spoonbill, 
while  the  audiences  have  sometimes  been  cold.  Had 
the  same  piece  been  produced  in  London,  it  would 
have  been  received  with  screams  of  laughter  from 
beginning  to  end.  My  own  impression  is,  that  its 
chief  fault  consists  in  its  lack  of  serious  interest,  for 
American  audiences  insist  on  backbone  to  a  play. 
Mr.  W.  S.  Gilbert's  pieces,  which  are  exquisitely 
written,  and  replete  with  the  finest  wit  and  satire, 
according  to  English  notions,  have  rarely  been  suc- 
cessful in  America,  that  is  to  say,  among  the  masses. 
By  the  critics,  and  the  highly  educated  few,  however, 
their  talent  and  originality  are  invariably  commended. 
The  same  remark  may  be  made  with  reference  to 
Henry  J.  Byron's  burlesques,  although  many  of  his 
dramas  have  been  eminently  successful. 

"I  am  frequently  asked  why  I  don't  play  more  parts 
in  my  old  line  of  business,  what  might  be  called  '  the 
romantic  juvenile  parts.'  My  answer  is,  that  I  am 
now  fully  convinced  that  in  order  to  keep  my  hold  on 
the  public,  I  must  for  the  future  devote  myself  to 
strong,  original  characterizations." 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  43 


A  CRITICISM  OF  THE   "HORNET'S  NEST." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Sothern,  turning  to  a  portfolio, 
"  this  criticism  by  '  Trinculo  '  which  I  found  in  the 
New  York  Spirit  of  the  Times  will  convey  a  good  idea 
of  the  '  Hornet's  Nest,'  and  the  manner  in  which  it 
strikes  an  intelligent  mind.     The  writer  says  : 

"The  'Hornet's  Nest'  proved  to  be  one  of  Mr. 
Sothern's  jokes.  Perhaps  I  should  say  a  thousand 
and  one  of  his  jokes. 

"  Everybody  screamed  at  it,  and  then  said  it  was 
thin.  I  believe  everybody  went  back  the  next  night 
and  screamed  again. 

"  Sydney  Spoonbill,  the  hero  of  this  absurdity,  is  no 
other  person  than  our  estimable  friend,  Mr.  Sothern, 
himself,  who  smokes  several  good  cigars,  and  keeps  up 
a  running  commentary  of  wit  and  humor. 

"  If  the  paragraphers'  club  were  to  write  a  play,  I 
think  it  would  be  like  the  '  Hornet's  Nest.' 

" '  Crackling  Thorns '  would  have  been  a  better  title 
for  it. 

"  Such  acting  as  it  gives  occasion  for  is  exquisitely 
done.  Mr.  Sothern  seems  to  have  said,  'I  will  show 
you  how  fine  it  is  for  a  player  not  to  act  at  all.  I  will 
be  perfectly  natural,  and  never  resort  to  a  stage  trick, 
and  you  shall  see  me  walk  up  and  down  in  an  easy, 
nonchalant  manner,  saying  all   the  funny   things   of 


44  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

which  the  language  is  capable.  You  shall  roar  with 
the  nonsense  of  it,  and  be  tickled  to  death.' 

"  But  pure,  unadulterated  fun  for  two  hours  and  a  half 
won't  do.  There  must  be  a  serious  spot  in  it.  Even 
a  negro  minstrel,  who  is  the  maddest  wag  alive  in  real 
life,  has  to  black  up,  and  have  his  serious  moments. 

"  People  don't  like  nature  half  as  well  as  they  do 
art.  They  don't  want  the  real  thing  so  heartily  as 
they  want  the  sham  thing.  A  newspaper  that  is  all 
paragraphs,  and  never  an  obituary  or  an  outrage,  is  a 
dreadful  affair. 

"  There  is  a  popular  notion  that  people  go  to  the 
theatre  now-a-days  to  be  amused,  I  used  to  think  so 
myself.  But  I've  got  over  it.  I  think  now  that  nine- 
tenths  of  them  go  to  the  play-house  to  have  their  feel- 
ings outraged  ;  and  if  the  playwright  or  the  actor 
doesn't  outrage  them,  they  feel  like  the  prude  who 
hasn't  been  insulted  by  anybody. 

"  The  '  Hornet's  Nest '  is  in  reality  a  mare's  nest.  It 
makes  you  search  a  good  while,  without  finding  any- 
thing. Mr.  Sothern's  hornets  are  jokes.  They  buzz 
all  through  it.  Nobody  can  make  such  an  idiotic  pun 
as  he.  He  used  to  strangle  us  with  them  when  he 
played  Dundreary  :  now  he  lets  loose  the  whole  swarm. 

"  By  his  jokes  you  may  know  him  anywhere.  Be- 
sides, he  has  got  one  of  his  love  scenes  in  it.  Who 
wrote  that  episode  in  the  last  act,  where  one  lover 
sits   on   the   edge   of   the    table,   and   deals   his  pas- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  45 

sion  out  m  mots,  and  swings  his  leg,  and  turns  the 
language  inside  out,  to  see  if  it  has  any  fun  in  it  ? 
And  the  other  lovers  sits  in  a  chair,  in  a  muslin 
dress,  and  looks  sweet,  and  doesn't  do  anything  else 
except  laugh  at  the  insane  brilliancy  of  the  fellow  who 
is  pulling  her  hand  about. 

."  I  wonder  if  that  is  the  way  people  make  love  now- 
a-days.  And  if  all  the  amorous  passion  of  our  natures 
can  expend  itself  in  gags,  if  we  are  self-possessed  and 
well  trained  ! 

"  Sothern  is  a  pre-Raphaelite.  Nobody  can  repro- 
duce nature  in  such  minuteness  as  he,  when  he  pleases. 
I  call  him  a  perfect  artist. 

"  But  I  don't  think  much  of  the  *  Hornet's  Nest,' 
except  for  an  afterpiece." 


A  LOVE  STORY  NECESSARY  TO  A  SUCCESSFUL 
PLAY. 

"  To  what  do  you  ascribe  the  success  of  your  plays  ?" 
"I  don't  believe  that  either  'Dundreary'  or  the 
*  Crushed  Tragedian '  would  have  met  with  the  extra- 
ordinary success  which  has  attended  their  presenta- 
tion in  America,  if  it  were  not  for  the  pretty  love 
story  that  runs  through  both  pieces  like  a  kind  of 
golden  thread.  Besides,  Dundreary  and  Fitz  Alta- 
moiit,  in  spite  of  their  strong  peculiarities,  are  thorough 
gentlemen  at  heart.     For  the  future  I  shall  devote  my- 


46  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

self  to  what  maybe  called  'Robsoni  an' parts — those 
which  give  me  latitude  for  original  conception.  Of 
course  this  determination  involves  an  immense  amount 
of  thought  and  work.  I  can  master  any  light  comedy 
or  juvenile  part  in  48  hours,  so  far  as  the  language  is 
concerned  ;  but  in  the  creation  of  a  character,  every 
look,  tone,  motive,  that  suggests  or  shades  an  individ- 
uality must  be  the  subject  of  patient  practice.  The 
mere  inflection  of  a  voice  will  often  make  a  difference 
with  an  appreciative  audience,  and  the  very  cues  have 
frequently  to  be  delivered  in  a  way  which  it  is  impos- 
sible to  illustrate  except  by  repeated  rehearsals. 

W.    S.    GILBERT,    THE    DRAMATIC    AUTHOR. 

"  By  the  way,  I  referred  a  moment  ago  to  W.  S. 
Gilbert,  the  dramatic  writer,  who  I  look  upon  not  only 
as  one  of  the  shining  lights  of  modern  dramatic  liter- 
ature, but  an  excellent,  generous  and  high-toned  gen- 
tleman. As  an  illustration  of  the  kindness  of  his 
heart,  about  a  year  ago  I  made  a  proposition  to  him  to 
write  a  comedy  for  me,  which  he  agreed  to  do  for  the 
sum  of  two  thousand  guineas,  to  be  paid  on  the  deliv- 
ery of  the  manuscript.  I  particularly  requested  him 
not  to  make  an  individual  part  for  me  inasmuch  as  I 
wished  to  select  it  myself.  The  play,  when  finished, 
was  a  beautiful  composition,  but  after  many  weeks  of 
thought  and  reading  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 


ABOUT    SOTHERN,  47 

character  of  an  old  man  which  Mr.  Gilbert  had  cre- 
ated evidently  for  my  own  personation  was  not  suited 
to  my  style  and  methods.  In  fact,  he  had  made  what 
might  be  called  a  '  part  piece,'  and  I  wrote  to  him  to 
that  effect.  He  replied  in  the  most  unselfish  spirit,  ex- 
pressing his  regrets  that  I  had  not  been  suited  and 
offering  to  take  back  the  play.  I  speak  of  this  circum- 
stance because  it  is  an  exceptional  instance  of  large- 
heartedness  on  the  part  of  one  who  might  legally  and 
reasonably  have  enforced  his  contract.  It  was  an  ex- 
quisite pi'oduction,  but  practically  too  far  in  advance 
of  the  demands  of  the  present  time.  I  have  a  number 
of  similar  pieces  that  are  almost  open  to  the  same 
criticism.  "What  the  people  seem  to  require,  at  this 
moment,  is  not  so  much  elegance  of  composition 
in  which  the  real  genius  of  the  poet  and  the  play- 
wright is  represented,  as  strong  and  exciting  situations 
and  characterizations." 

HENRY  J.   BYRON. 

"I  infer  from  what  you  have  said  that  you  also 
greatly  admire  Henry  J.  Byron,  the  dramatic  author." 

"  I  do,"  answered  Mr.  Sothern,  "  and  so  will  any- 
one who  understands  the  character  of  the  man,  and 
appreciates  his  extraordinary  facility  for  punning, 
twisting  words  inside  out,  and  producing  the  wittiest 
of  effects.     One,  however,  frequently,  must  read   his 


48  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

burlesques  before  seeing  them,  in  order  to  understand 
the  nice  shading  which  he  employs  in  his  word  paint- 
ing. As  regards  his  plays  when  put  upon  the  stage, 
not  one  company  in  a  hundred  can  give  the  necessary 
point  to  Byron's  witticisms  without  seeming  to  force 
them.  I  know  him  well,  and  never  have  met  a 
gentleman  in  all  my  travels  who  more  completely  cor- 
ruscated  with  brilliant  thoughts  and  repartee.  A 
stenographer  could  almost  write  an  admirable  bur- 
lesque by  taking  down  what  Byron  says  at  his  own 
dinner  table,  because  his  humor  is  thrown  off  so  easily 
and  naturally.  Wit  with  him  is  spontaneous,  and 
when  in  the  mood  every  sentence  is  an  epigram.  It  is 
a  prevailing  impression  that  Byron  writes  too  rapidly, 
but  to  my  certain  knowledge  he  frequently  does  not 
take  a  pen  in  hand  for  weeks  at  a  time.  I  have  often 
seen  him  after  a  chatty  dinner  go  to  his  desk  and 
make  a  half-dozen  memoranda.  During  that  time  he 
has  probably  evolved  the  skeleton  of  a  pla}'.  He  never 
commences  a  drama  wondering  how  he  is  going  to 
finish  it ;  the  frame  work  is  all  clear  before  he  puts  pen 
to  paper.  The  beginning  and  end  of  every  act  is 
definitely  settled  ;  as  to  the  dialogue,  that  comes  to 
him  more  rapidly  than  he  can  scribble.  I  once  asked 
him  why  he  didn't  use  a  short-hand  reporter.  He  re- 
plied that  the  scratching  of  his  quill  on  the  paper 
was  like  music  to  him.  Another  thing :  he  scarcely 
ever  is  guilty  of  an  erasure,  and  when  he  has   once 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  49 

written  a  piece  he  has  the  strongest  possible  objection 
to  alterations.  He  rarely  goes  to  see  a  first  night's 
performance  of  his  own  work,  and  a  play  once  pro- 
duced seems  to  lose  all  interest  in  his  mind,  doubtless 
because  it  is  so  quickly  succeeded  by  the  plot  of  the 
next  which  you  maybe  sure  he  will  speedily  write.  In 
social  life  Byron  is  extremely  domesticated  and  is 
rarely  seen  in  public.  I  should  say  that  he  has  not 
more  than  two  or  three  friends  in  the  world  whom 
he  regards  as  intimate  associates.  In  fact  his  life  is 
all  work,  but  such  pleasant  work  to  him  that  it  never 
becomes  tiresome  or  monotonous. 


BYRON'S  WIT. 

"  I  spoke  about  his  quickness  of  wit  and  repartee.  An 
incident  or  two  will  illustrate  it. 

"  The   celebrated  Poole   of    Burlington  street  was 

Byron's  tailor  for  a  number  of  years.     Now  Byron  was 

always  a  well  dressed  man,  though  quiet  in  his  style, 

but  from  some  cause  or  another  was  continually  abusing 

Poole  because,  as  he  said  :    *  he  can't  fit  me  at  all.' 

The  real  reason  was  that  he  would  never  try  his  clothes 

on.     One  day  while  Byron  was  at  the  Garrick  Club, 

some  one  came  in  and  exclaimed  :    *By  Jove  !    Have 

you  heard   the   news  ?      Poole   the   tailor   is    dead  !' 

*  Dead  !  the  Devil  he  is,'  remarked  one  of  the  com- 
8 


50  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

pany  present.  *  What  did  he  die  of  ?'  '  He  died  of 
a  fit.'  Byron's  immediate  rejoinder  was,  '  I'll  wager 
a  sovereign  that  he  died  of  a  misJiV 

"  One  of  Byron's  pleasant  traits  is  that,  pungent  as  his 
wit  may  be,  he  rarely,  if  ever,  permits  himself  to  hurt 
the  feelings  of  another,  always  prefering  to  sacrifice 
the  point  of  a  brilliant  thought  if  likely  to  injure  the 
tender  susceptibilities  of  a  friend.  It  is  so  eas}'^,"  said 
Mr.  Sothern,  "  to  say  disagreeable  things,  and  yet  so  hard 
to  be  witty  without  them.  Jerrold  would  make  a  pun 
at  any  cost,  and  nurse  a  satire  for  days  and  weeks  to- 
gether until  a  favorable  opportunity  was  presented  for 
the  impalement  of  some  unhappy  victim.  One  night 
at  the  Arundel  Club  in  London,  where  a  number  of 
literary  people  were  discussing  the  disposition  to  pun 
and  play  upon  words,  some  one  suggested  Byron  should 
be  put  to  the  test  of  instantly  transforming  any  word 
that  might  be  named,  and  giving  it  another  meaning. 
Byron  was  evidently  annoyed  and  rather  tartly  re- 
plied :  '  Yes,  any  word  that  can  be  spoken  in  this 
company,'  with  a  strong  emphasis  on  this.  The  word 
mentioned  was  '  asaf oetida.'  Byron  as  quick  as 
lightning  replied,  '  Imagine  a  scene  in  a  burlesque. 
The  king's  daughter  has  run  away  with  some  poor 
nobleman,  but  being  found  is  dragged  in  by  a  jailer 
whom  the  king  orders  to  take  her  to  prison  and  place 
in  irons.  A  servant  enters  soon  afterwards,  and  the 
king    addresses   him  thus  :    "  Well,    hireling,    'as  he 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  51 

fettered  her  f"" '    The  company  with  a  groan  agreed  that 
they  had  lost  the  wager." 


ENGLISH    ACTORS. 

"  Who  among  the  old  English  actors  at  present 
occupy  relatively  the  same  positions  that  are  held  by 
our  popular  favorites  in  New  York  ?" 

"  Well,  among  the  old  men  Mr.  Chippendale  is  the 
professional  twin,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  of  Mr. 
John  S.  Gilbert,  of  Wallaek's  ;  Mr.  Compton  compares 
with  Mr.  Harry  Beckett,  both  representing  the  same 
peculiar  dry  humoi*.  Mr.  Toole,  who  was  here  two 
years,  has  his  counterpart  in  Mr.  W.  J.  Florence.  Mr. 
Kendall  would  remind  you  of  Mr.  Lester  Wallack. 
Mr.  James,  of  the  London  Vaudeville  Theatre,  seems 
to  me  to  stand  alone.  He  is  equally  perfect  in  broad 
low  comedy  and  domestic  pathos.  Mr.  Howe,  of  the 
Hay  market  Theatre,  also  stands  in  the  foremost  rank, 
both  in  comedy  and  tragedy.  Mr.  Terry  and  Mr. 
Thome,  low  comedians  and  character  actors,  are  par- 
ticular favorites  with  the  London  public.  Mr.  Hare  is 
a  finished  artist  in  old  man  parts. 

"Among  the  actresses,  I  should  certainly  place  Mrs. 
Bancroft  and  Mrs.  Kendall  in  the  foremost  rank,  their 
specialties  being  high  comedy.  Mrs,  Bancroft  I  con- 
sider the  best  actress  on  the  English  stage  ;  in  fact  I 
might  say  on  any  stage.     She  is  probably  thirty-eight 


52  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

years  of  age.  She  commenced  her  profession  as  a 
burlesque  actress,  and  was  one  of  the  best  we  have 
ever  seen  in  England.  When  she  took  the  Prince  of 
Wales  Theatre  .she  discarded  the  burlesque  business, 
and,  to  the  amazement  of  everyone,  proved  herself  the 
finest  comedy  actress  in  London.  Her  face,  though 
not  essentially  pretty,  is  a  mass  of  intelligence.  Her 
husband,  Mr.  Bancroft,  is  an  admirable  actor  in  certain 
parts — Capt.  Hawtree,  for  instance.  He  is  the  heavy 
swell  of  the  English  stage.  Miss  Ellen  Terry,  the 
sister  of  the  celebrated  Kate  Terry,  and  Miss  Hollings- 
head,  are  the  ingenues  in  England.  They  are  pretty, 
effective,  and  always  handsomely  received  by  their 
audiences.  Miss  Amy  Roselle  is  another  actress  who 
is  rapidly  coming  to  the  front  by  reason,  first,  of  her 
beauty ;  secondly,  of  her  fine  abilities.  Miss  Larkin 
resembles  Mrs.  Gilbert  in  her  style  of  acting,  and  is 
about  forty  years  of  age. 

GUSTAVTS  V.  BROOKE  AND  CHARLES  MATTHEWS. 

"  By  the  way,  there's  a  picture  of  poor  Gustavus 
Brooke,  who  went  down  at  sea  so  bravely  yeai*s  ago. 
His  great  trouble  was  that  he  too  often  disappointed 
his  managers,  and  you  know  what  that  means.  As  an 
actor  he  was  perfectly  brilliant,  arriving  at  his  effects 
in  a  most  original  manner.  He  was  the  imitator  of  no 
one  I  have  ever  seen ;  had  a  school  of  his  own  and 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  53 

followed  it  regardless  of  criticism.     In  short  he  was  a 
magnetic  actor, 

"And  look  at  that — a  picture  of  Charles  Matthews,. 
— an  old  friend  of  mine.  He  was,  undoubtedly,  the 
founder  of  the  present  school  of  light  comedy,  and 
when  he  dies  I  know  of  no  man  who  will  take  his 
place.  His  force  consists  in  his  excessive — well,  I  may 
call  it  his  champagny  airiness.  Even  at  the  present 
time,  when  he  must  be  nearly  seventy  years  old,  he 
dashes  on  the  stage  with  all  the  lightness  and  brilliancy 
of  a  lad  of  twenty.  I  never  saw  Charles  Matthews  at- 
tempt a  serious  part,  and,  in  fact,  there  doesn't  seem  to 
be  one  pathetic  tone  in  his  voice.  Still  I  am  sure  that 
he  would  play  a  pathetic  scene  in  a  perfectly  natural 
manner.     He  don't  kno.v  what  it  is  to  have  low  spirits. 

"When  imprisoned  in  Lancaster  Castle  for  debt, 
■with  no  probability  of  his  being  released  for  years, 
he  was  always  as  gay  as  a  lark  and  occupied  most 
of  his  time  in  painting  water  color  sketches  quite 
admirable  in  their  character,  the  sale  of  which  eventu- 
ally enabled  him  to  effect  his  release.  Its  rather  an 
odd  thing,  by-the-by,  but  some  of  us  actors  naturally 
take  to  the  brush.  Joe  Jefferson  paints  well,  so  does 
John  Brougham,  and  when  at  leisure  I  pass  many  pleas- 
ant hours  in  sketching  scenes  with  which  I  am  fam- 
iliar. 


54  TALKS     WITH,    AND 


BUCKSTONE. 

"  Among  the  famous  English  actors  is  Tom  Baldwin 
Buckstone,  who  must  now  be  about  seventy-five  years 
of  age  ;  but  old  as  he  is  he  gets  hold  of  his  audience 
more  rapidly  than  any  one  I  know.  A  simple  *  good 
morning'  from  him  seems  to  set  the  house  in  a  roar^ 
His  personal  magnetism  is  simply  wonderful.  I  always 
stipulate  when  I  play  at  the  Haymarket,  London,  that 
Buckstone  shall  appear  in  the  same  piece  with  me.  He 
is  like  old  William  Warren,  of  Boston,  a  perennial 
favorite.  He  acts  as  if  he  had  strings  on  all  of  his 
fingers  attached  to  the  audience  in  front,  and  plays 
with  them  and  pulls  them  about  just  as  he  Avants.  I 
think  he  has  been  on  the  stage  about  fifty-five  years. 
During  my  connection  with  him  of  nearly  fourteen 
years  there  has  never  been  a  scrap  of  paper  between 
us.  He  is  emphatically  a  man  of  his  word.  His  the- 
atre— the  Haymarket — yields  him  a  very  handsome 
income  from  the  production  of  light  comedies  and  the 
appearance  of  stars  like  J.  S.  Clarke,  Miss  Neilson  and 
others." 

INCIDENTS    OP    THE    STAGE. 

In  response  to  a  question  by  one  of  his  guests  con- 
cerning his  experiences  on  the  boards,  Mr.   Sothern 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  55 

said  :  "  I  am  glad  you  are  inquisitive  in  that  direction. 
I  remember  playing  Dundreary  one  evening  in  London 
when  the  house  was  packed  and  there  were  thousands 
outside  trying  to  get  in.  The  police  were  obliged  to 
line  Haymarket  on  both  sides  in  order  to  keep  the  car- 
riage way  open.  A  countryman  and  his  wife  occupied 
two  front  seats  in  the  upper  circle.  In  the  middle  of 
one  of  my  soliloquies  the  wife  said  loudly  during  a 
pause  in  which  I  expected  a  roar  of  laughter,  '  Weel, 
Jamie,  I  can  see  now't  in't.'  To  which  Jamie  replied 
in  an  equally  loud  tone,  '  Weel,  domb'd  ef  I  can  ; 
come  along,  Sally.'  The  house  fairly  screamed  at 
the  remark,  and  at  every  interval  some  one  would 
shout,  *Come  along,  Sally.' 

"  On  another  evening  a  man  sat  in  the  pit  perfectly 
stolid  through  the  first  two  acts.  Suddenly  he  began 
to  gurgle — you  couldn't  call  it  a  laugh — but  the  people 
laughed  at  hira  to  such  an  extent  that  he  interfered 
with  the  play.  I  whispered  to  the  prompter  to  send  a 
policeman  to  remove  the  man.  When  the  officer 
reached  the  spot  he  found  a  corpse.  The  man  had 
literally  laughed  himself  into  apoplexy.  Strangely 
enough,  on  that  same  night  and  at  about  the  same 
hour — for  we  compared  notes — while  Boucicault  was 
playing  the  *  Colleen  Bawn '  at  the  Adelphi  Theatre,  a 
woman,  under  the  influence  of  deep  emotion,  gave 
birth  to  a  child  and  died  before  she  could  be  removed. 
In  one  case  it  was  death  resulting  fi'om  an  excess  of 


56  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

humor,  and  in  the  other  from  the  effect  of  strong 
pathos.  This  proves  that  comedy  requires  as  much 
strength  as  its  opposite  in  producing  similar  though 
diverse  effects  upon  the  imagination.  In  fact  it  is  my 
belief  that  comedy  requires  even  more  intensity  and 
magnetism  than  melodrama  or  tragedy,  because  in  the 
one  case  the  actor  may  find  his  effect  created  simply 
by  the  representation  of  a  touching  story,  while  in  the 
other  unless  the  performer  by  action  fully  illustrates 
the  humor  of  an  idea,  the  comedy  fails  to  be  appre- 
ciated and  the  magnetic  power  of  his  art  is  absent. 


AUDIENCES  AND  ACTORS. 

"  What  are  your  impressions  concerning  the  plays 
of  the  present  day  and  their  effect  ?  " 

"  That  is  rather  a  hard  question  to  answer.  Briefly, 
however,  I  think  that  we  are  passing  through  a  period 
in  which  the  people  do  not  care  for  the  higher  order  of 
plays  and  such  bright  thoughts  as  are  to  be  found  in 
the  old  comedies  like  '  School  for  Scandal,'  &c.  The 
modern  audience  seems  to  desire  constant  action,  no 
matter  how  bad  it  may  be,  rather  than  sparkling  dia- 
logue such  as  is  written  by  Gilbert  and  Byron,  and  the 
consequence  is  that  dramatist,  manager  and  actor  are 
forced  to  recognize  the  momentary  wants  of  an  eccen- 
tric public." 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  57 

"To  what  do  you  think  you  principally  owe  your 
success  on  the  stage  ?  " 

"Earnestness — doing  everything  as  well  as  I  know 
how — never  acting  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  and 
thoroughly  understanding  what  I  have  to  do.  I  owe 
much  of  my  success  to  the  elder  Wallack  and  to 
Rachel.  Wallack  showed  me  the  necessity  of  convey- 
ing at  a  rehearsal  what  you  intend  to  do  at  night,  and 
the  importance  of  paying  strict  attention  to  the 
minutest  detail.  He  was  one  of  the  most  thorough 
stage  managers  I  ever  met.  We  were  like  a  set  of 
school-boys  under  discipline.  We  had  to  give  a  reason 
for  everything,  and  therefore  to  study  hard.  With 
reference  to  Rachel,  I  left  myself  out  of  an  engage- 
ment for  six  weeks,  in  order  to  see  her  play  her  cele- 
brated characters.  There  was  a  fascination  about  her 
acting  that  was  almost  painful.  She  had  less  action 
than  any  artist  I  have  ever  seen,  but  she  was  so  in- 
tensely in  earnest,  and  her  passion  was  so  overwhelm- 
ing, though  subdued,  that  you  lost  yourself  in  won- 
derment. I  learned  from  her,  therefore,  that  one 
of  the  chief  elements  of  whatever  success  I  expected 
was  earnestness,  intensity,  and  thorough  identification 
with  every  part  in  which  I  might  be  engaged.  There 
is  not  an  audience  in  the  world  which  will  not  be 
quick  to  detect  the  sympathy  between  the  actor  and 

his  play." 

3* 


5«  TALKS     WITH,     AND 


TE3IPERAMENT    AS    AN     ELEMENT   OF    SUCCESS. 

"  Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Sothern,  that  temperament 
has  much  to  do  with  the  success  of  actors  and 
actresses  ?" 

"  Unquestionably  so.  I  think  that  most  of  our  first- 
class  actors  are  painfully  nervous,  especially  on  the 
first  two  or  three  nights  of  a  performance  in  which 
they  may  be  specially  interested.  And  ray  experience 
is,  that  people  with  this  temperament  are  never  fully 
satisfied  with  their  labors.  They  are  perpetually  pol- 
ishing, improving  and  reviewing.  The  very  instant 
an  actor  is  satisfied  with  his  own  work  and  believes 
himself  to  have  reached  the  acme  of  cleverness,  from 
that  moment  he  begins  to  deteriorate.  I  am  more 
nervous  in  going  before  an  audience  now  than  I  was 
twenty  years  ago.  During  the  first  night  of  the 
*  Crushed  Tragedian '  in  this  city.  Miss  Ida  Savory, 
with  whom  I  was  playing,  told  me  she  thought  I  was 
going  to  drop  on  the  stage  in  a  faint,  and  I  thought  so 
too,  for  my  hands  and  feet  were  as  cold  as  marble. 
This,  however,  is  not  an  anomalous  thing  in  the  pro- 
fession. I  have  seen  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  dis- 
tinguished actors  on  the  English  stage  with  his  tongue 
so  completely  paralyzed  for  several  seconds  that  he  was 
obliged  to  wet  his  lips  before  be  could  deliver  a  line. 
Speaking  of  the  '  Crushed  Tragedian,'  the  transition 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  5^ 

from  Lord  Dundreary  to  Fitz  Altaraont  was  so 
great  that  it  commanded  all  my  resolution  to  take  the 
risk.  Having  made  that  reputation  which  is  dear  to 
every  man,  in  'Dundreary,'  the  attempt  to  create  a 
character  like  the  '  Crushed  Tragedian  '  so  utterly  un- 
like any  other  I  had  ever  played,  was  really  a  matter 
of  fool-hardiness,  and  yet  you  see  what  I  have  done 
with  it.  It  has  run  eighty-one  nights  at  the  Park 
Theatre,  in  New  York,  and  filled  that  handsome  place 
of  entertainment  nightly,  when  almost  every  other  in 
the  city  was  losing  money.  To  make  such  a  success 
after  'Dundreary'  is  like  a  man's  coming  out  of  a 
house  on  a  summer's  day  expecting  to  be  struck  by 
lightning." 

ANNOYANCES  OF  MANAGERS. 

In  the  course  of  the  desultory  conversation  which 
followed,  and  while  commenting  upon  the  annoyances 
to  which  managers  are  frequently  subjected  by  reason 
of  the  ignorance  of  aspirants  for  Thespian  honors,  Mr. 
Sothern  related  the  following  incident :  "  I  was  play- 
ing," he  said,  "  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  in  *  Dundreaiy 
Married  and  Settled.'  Among  the  company  was  a 
young  fellow  who,  although  undeniably  well  educated, 
and  a  thorough  gentleman,  had  been  obviously  and 
expressly  made  not  to  be  an  actor.  He  had  ruined 
two  or  three  scenes  with  me  in  pieces  which  we  had 


6o  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

previously  performed,  and  I  was  forced  to  tell  the 
stage  manager  particularly  not  to  let  him  play  Harry 
Vernon.  The  manager,  however,  who  is  an  old  friend 
of  mine,  begged  me  to  give  the  young  chap  one  more 
chance,  because  he  still  thought  there  might  be  some- 
thing in  him.  I  finally  agreed,  but  remarked,  '  You'll 
find  there  will  be  another  contretemps  and  the  mischief 
to  pay.'  The  lines  he  had  to  utter  when  I  gave  him  a 
certain  cue,  were  as  follows:  'That's  a  nice  horse  to 
lend  a  friend;  I  never  could  ride.  I  have  broken  both 
his  knees.  Where  is  Georgiana  ?  Up  stairs !  Heave 
ahead  ! '  This  Harry  Vernon  was  supposed  to  be  a 
sailor,  which  accounts  for  the  expression  'Heave 
ahead.'  You  can  imagine  the  consternation  of  the 
whole  of  us,  when,  the  time  having  amved  for  him  to 
*  go  on,'  he  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  the  cue, 
but  in  fact  was  listening  at  the  key  hole,  apparently 
absorbed  in  his  own  meditations,  and  softly  whistling 
to  himself,  '  Still  so  Gently  O'er  Me  Stealing.'  What 
to  do  I  didn't  know.  I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and 
looked  despairingly  at  the  prompter,  for  there  was  a 
dead  pause  in  the  play  that  was  embaiTassing.  The 
prompter,  a  quick-tempered  man,  rushed  round  to  the 
door,  and  you  can  guess  my  feelings  as  the  young 
fellow  in  an  instant  afterwards  came  half  leaping,  half 
falling  on  the  stage  as  frightened  and  amazed  as  if  he 
had  been  shot  out  of  a  catapult.  The  prompter  couldn't 
resist  the  temptation  of  an  inviting  attitude  and  as 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  fit 

Harry  Vernon  stood  bending  over  the  key  hole  he 
received  the  full  force  of  a  heavy  boot  that  accelerated 
his  motion  through  the  air.  With  a  howl  of  agony 
the  young  amateur  exclaimed:  *My  God!  What  is 
that ! '  Not  knowing  the  cause  of  this  demonstration, 
I  whispered  to  him,  '  Come  on,  sir  ;  come  on  !  Quick ! ' 
Poor  fellow,  he  had  *  come  on '  with  a  vengeance  ;  and 
this  is  what  in  the  confusion  of  the  moment  he  said: 
*  That's  a  nice  girl  to  lend  a  friend  ;  he  never  could 
ride.  I  have  broken  both  her  knees.  Where  is  the 
horse  !  Up  stairs  !  Heave  her  ahead.'  That  is  one 
of  the  few  times  in  my  experience  when  I  felt  as  if  I 
had  been  shaken  up  by  an  earthquake.  I  needn't  tell 
you  that  the  ambitious  individual  immediately  yielded 
up  the  ghost  of  any  desire  to  continue  the  stage  as  a 
profession,  and  has  since  embraced  the  church." 

UNREMEMBERED  CUES. 

"Among  other  curious  incidents,"  remarked  Mr. 
Sothern,  "  that  have  come  under  my  observation  in  con- 
nection with  anachronisms  and  unremembered  cues,  by 
actors,  another  occurs  to  me.  A  young  lady  was 
playing  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  Edinburgh,  several  years 
ago  who,  although  a  novice  in  acting,  had  a  lovely 
voice  of  which  she  was  proud,  and  always  used  it  to 
her  own  advantage  on  the  stage,  even  though  the 
occasion  was  inopportune.     At  the  time  that  I  refer 


62  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

to,  she  was  cast  in  some  melo-dramatic  piece  (I  have 
forgotten  the  name),  and  made  it  a  sine  qua  non  that 
she  should  accompany  herself  on  the  piano.  The 
director  of  the  theatre  being  obliged  to  leave  town  on 
business,  notified  the  stage  manager  that  she  was  to 
introduce  the  song  wherever  she  thought  best.  She 
was  performing  the  part  of  a  virgin  pursued  by- 
brigands,  when,  in  the  midst  of  a  tremendously 
dramatic  scene,  to  the  horror  of  everyone  oa  the  stage 
and  behind  the  wings,  she  insisted  on  a  piano  being 
discovered  in  the  wilds  of  a  forest.  She  dashed  on 
with  her  hair  streaming  down  her  back,  and  after  a 
strong  declamatory  speech  expressive  of  the  idea  that 
she  wished  she  were  back  amongst  her  early  friends, 
she  exclaimed:  *  Ah  !  I  see  that  the  brigands  have  left 
their  piano  in  the  woods,  which  reminds  me  of  the 
song  my  brother  taught  me  long,  long  ago.*  Where- 
upon with  a  marvellous  complaisance  the  young  girl 
revolved  upon  the  music  stool  and  proceeded  to  sing 
*  Home,  Sweet  Home.'  Fancy,"  said  Mr.  Sothern,  "  the 
feelings  of  that  manager  when  he  heard  of  this  viola- 
tion of  '  the  artistic  unities.' 

"  At  another  time  when  Braham,  the  great  English 
tenor,  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  power,  he  played  a  melo- 
dramatic part  in  a  London  theatre.  His  last  greatest 
success,  *  The  Sea,  the  Sea,  the  Open  Sea,'  had  taken  the 
metropolis  by  storm.  In  the  course  of  one  of  the  acts 
he  was  manacled  hand  and  foot  in  a  dreary  cell,  but  it 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  «^ 

was  about  the  only  place  where  he  thought  he  could 
sing  his  favorite  song,  and  he  introduced  it  somewhat 
like  this  :  'Ah  me  !  such  misery  as  I  suffer !  Bound 
liere  a  prisoner,  and  scarcely  able  to  move.  The  more  I 
look  around  these  dingy  walls  the  more  they  remind 
me  of  "  the  open  sea." '  This  was  the  orchestra  leader's 
cue,  and  in  an  instant  he  had  the  instruments  gallop- 
ping  through  the  prelude,  whereupon  Braham  in- 
troduced in  his  own  superb  style,  which  few  vocalists 
have  been  able  to  imitate,  the  well-known  song.  It  was 
not  until  he  had  retired  from  the  scene  that  he  realized 
the  absurdity  of  the  situation,  and  was  careful  ever 
afterwards  not  to  repeat  the  mistake. 

"Another  singular  cue  was  given  by  a  notorious 
artist,  a  part  of  whose  duty  it  was  to  give  '  My  Arab 
Steed,'  then  an  exceedingly  popular  song.  Forgetting 
his  lines,  he  dashed  off  with  something  like  this: 

'Where,  oh,  where  is  my  darling  one? 
I  have  hunted  up  stairs  and  down  stairs 
And  in  my  lady's  chamber,  but  nowhere, 
Alas,  can  I  find  "My  Arab  Steed,"  ' — 

whereupon  the  leader,  taking  the  cue,  proceeded  with 
the  performance.  Nobody  but  an  actor  can  properly 
appreciate  the  horror  that  follows  the  discovery  of  these 
contretemps  or  realize  the  cold  chills  that  chase  each 
other  down  the  vertebrae  as  one  contemplates  his 
ludicrous  position  and  the  possible  effect  upon  a  critical 
audience." 


«4  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"I'VE    SWALLOWED    THE    FILE." 

"There  was  another  case,  in  which  a  good  actor 
found  himself  put  to  his  trumps  to  conquer  a  diffi- 
culty that  could  not  have  been  foreseen.  He  was 
playing  the  part  of  a  prisoner  in  a  dungeon,  and  in 
order  to  make  his  escape,  had  secreted  on  his  person 
a  file  nearly  eighteen  inches  long.  He  had  filed  oflf 
his  handcuffs  and  shackles,  and  was  just  about  to 
leave,  when  the  king's  carbineers,  overhearing  the 
noise  of  his  clanking  chains,  suddenly  make  their 
appearance  at  the  iron  lattice  work  of  the  dungeon 
door,  and  while  pointing  their  muskets  at  him,  the 
captain  of  the  guard  gives  the  order  to  '  Fire  !'  The 
triggers  were  pulled,  but  unfortunately  the  property- 
man  had  forgotten  to  put  caps  on  the  nipples  of  the 
guns.  Of  course  there  was  no  getting  out  of  the 
difficulty  except  by  suicide,  and  here  is  where  the 
genius  of  the  artist  displayed  itself.  With  a  quick 
movement  he  thrust  the  long  bit  of  iron  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  throat,  at  the  same  instant  performing 
a  kind  of  conjuring  trick,  which  caused  it  to  dis- 
appear, and  then  melodramatically  exclaimed  :  *  My 
God  !  I  have  swallowed  the  file  !'  He  thereupon  pro- 
ceeded to  die  in  great  agony.  The  majority  of  the 
audience  were  not  any  the  wiser,  but  the  fellow 
might  as  well  have  said,  *  I  have  swallowed  Gramercy 
Park.' 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  6$^ 

"I  don't  know,"  continued  Mr.  Sothern,  "that  I 
have  ever  been  so  unfortunate^certainly  not  in  late 
years — as  to  be  caught  in  this  way.  In  fact,  I  have 
never  been  successful  in  any  piece  in  which  I  was  not 
perfect  in  the  words.  For  this  reason,  I  always  know 
what  is  going  on  about  me  ;  what  the  actors  are  say- 
ing, or  ought  to  say  and  do.  I  am  therefore  ready  to 
pi'ompt  them  whenever  required.  For  myself,  I  rely 
entirely  upon  the  magnetism  of  the  audience,  and  its 
influence  upon  an  acutely  nervous  system,  for  the  pro- 
duction of  effects  which  frequently  are  as  novel 
and  startling  to  my  brother  actors  as  they  are  to 
myself.  This  is  especially  true  of  my  part  of  Fitz 
Altamont,  in  the  *  Crushed  Tragedian,'  where  I  have 
occasionally  lost  ray  identity  so  completely  that,  to 
the  amazement  of  the  people  on  the  stage  and  those 
nearest  to  it,  I  have  commenced  to  rant  in  an  under- 
tone in  a  style  that  would  have  made  the  Bowery 
gods  yell  had  it  been  uttered  by  Richard  III.  on 
*  Bosworth's  gory  field.'  I  don't  think  I  am  alone  in 
this  peculiarity,  though  it  is  a  decidedly  bad  one  for 
any  man  to  possess." 

Some  one  suggested,  at  this  juncture,  that  pos- 
sibly a  disposition  to  improvise  language,  and  say 
bright  things  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  was  in- 
herent in  members  of  the  profession,  especially  to 
those  who  are  independent  of  the  trammels  of  their 
surroundings,  and  of  mere  stage  art. 


66  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

"  Perhaps  it  is  so,"  rejoined  Mr.  S.,  "  to  a  certain 
extent ;  but  it  is  the  exception  rather  than  the  rule, 
and  is  at  best  a  dangerous  experiment," 


AN  EXPERIENCE  WITH  "BROTHER  PROFES- 
SIONALS." 

"  Talking  about  actors,  there  is  a  celebrated  festival 
in  Birmingham  which  is  known  as  the  Onion  Fair.  I 
had  my  children  with  me  during  a  visit  to  the  place 
while  engaged  at  the  Theatre  Royal  in  that  city,  and 
about  12  o'clock  one  day  we  all  strolled  through  the 
fair  to  witness  the  usual  sights  on  such  occasions — the 
fat  women,  living  skeletons,  calves  with  six  legs,  Punch 
and  Judy,  imitations  of  Richardson's  Show,  <fcc.  In 
these  theatrical  performances  they  condense  Shakspe- 
rian  plays  in  the  most  frightful  manner  and  rattle 
through  the  plot  of  tragedy  in  about  twenty  minutes. 
When  the  door  opens  the  audience  make  their  exit  and 
a  fresh  crowd  is  introduced.  Reserved  seats  are  held 
at  'tuppence.'  We  paid  our  admission  fee  and  were 
assigned  places  on  the  front  row,  which  consisted  of  a 
dirty  wooden  bench.  We  were  scarcely  warm  in  our 
seats,  however,  when  the  proprietor  of  the  show  walked 
up  to  me,  took  off  his  hat  in  a  very  obsequious  manner, 
returned  my  money  and  remarked  :  '  We  never  charge 
our  brother  professionals.'  I  looked  at  him  in  aston- 
ishmentj  and  didn't  know  precisely  what  the  fellow  was 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  67 

driving  at ;  but  a  few  minutes  afterwards  I  heard  it 
posted  all  through  the  establishment :  '  That's  Lord 
Dundreary.'  A  good  many  people  evidently  thought 
that  I  was  a  real  nobleman,  and  doubtless  but  few  were 
aware  that  the  name  only  represented  the  character  I 
was  acting.  The  play  on  the  boards  at  the  time  was 
'  Hamlet.'  Just  as  the  curtain  was  about  to  fall, 
Hamlet,  the  king,  and  the  ghost  walked  down  two  or 
three  wooden  steps  from  the  stage,  approached,  and 
shaking  me  by  the  hand,  said  that  they  recognized  me, 
and  would  like  the  honor  of  drinking  the  health  of 
Lord  Dundreary.  Of  course  it  was  a  predicament 
that  I  was  obliged  to  accept  and  from  which  I  couldn't 
escape.  The  tenpence  I  held  in  my  hand  was  obviously 
too  little  with  which  to  '  tip '  these  ambitious  actors, 
and  the  only  other  coin  about  me  was  a  sovereign. 
This  I  handed  to  the  ghost.  They  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  give  three  cheers  for  Dundreary,  the  un- 
usual liberality  was  announced  to  the  audience  from 
the  stage,  the  band  struck  up  '  Should  Old  Acquaint- 
ance be  Forgot,'  and  we  were  accompanied  by  howls 
of  admiration  from  a  large  mob  until  we  arrived  at 
our  hotel.  I'm  very  sure  you  don't  have  any  such 
*  Brother  professionals '  in  this  country. 

STUDIES     FROM     LIFE. 
"  One  of  the  pastimes  which  I  occasionally  enjoy  is 


68  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

that  of  studying  idiosyncrasies  of  character.  Some- 
times I  have  spent  days  and  weeks  in  following  and 
observing  men  whose  eccentricities  of  dress  or  manner 
struck  me  as  unique  and  suggestive.  It's  curious,  too, 
how  much  one  becomes  interested  in  these  subjects, 
artistically,  I  mean,  and  how  a  thought  thus  created 
grows  upon  you  and  enlarges  until  at  last  you  have 
secured  a  new,  well-developed  character  around  which 
cluster  any  number  of  possible  stage  effects.  Speak- 
ing of  this,  I  have  a  friend,  a  physician,  on  whom  this 
kind  of  intellectual  entertainment  or  association,  ac- 
cording to  his  own  statement,  produced  a  singular  in- 
fluence. He  told  me  that  years  ago,  he  was  a  medical 
attendant  in  an  insane  asylum,  and  while  treating  the 
patients  and  listening  to  their  wild  vagaries,  he  found 
himself  drifting  unconsciously  into  the  same  channels, 
his  sleep  disturbed  by  strange  dreams,  and  his  whole 
nature  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  the  mad 
world.  Insanity  seemed  to  follow  him  like  a  night- 
mare, until  at  last,  finding  that  his  mind  was  likely  to 
become  more  or  less  sympathetically  affected,  he  de- 
termined to  sacrifice  his  salary,  retire  from  the  institu- 
tion, and  commence  the  ordinary  practice  of  medicine. 
He  says  that  if  he  had  remained  in  the  asylum  six 
months  longer  he  would  have  been  as  crazy  as  any  of 
his  patients.  The  truth  is,  once  a  fixed  idea  gets  into 
a  man's  mind,  it  is  the  beginning  of  insanity.  The 
rest  is  only  a  question  of  time." 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  69 

"  Is  it  not  true,  Mr.  Sothern,  that  all  of  the  artists 
in  your  profession,  who  have  achieved  success,  have, 
made  these  life  studies  ?"  / 

"I  think  it  is,  without  exception.  Forrest  was  a 
very  close  observer ;  Joe  Jefferson,  William  J.  Flor- 
ence, John  McCullough,  John  Owens,  John  T.  Ray- 
mond, J.  S.  Clarke,  the  Booths,  in  fact  all  who 
illustrate  strong  character,  have  taken  their  studies 
directly  from  nature.  You  might  as  well  expect 
Landseer  to  paint  one  of  his  magnificent  dogs  with 
life-like  fidelity,  or  Bierstadt  to  portray  the  glorious 
scenery  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  or  the  Yosemite 
Valley,  without  having  taken  lessons  on  the  spot ;  or 
McDonald  or  Ward,  the  sculptors,  to  represent  the 
human  form  divine,  without  a  perfect  knowledge  of 
anatomy,  and  constant  study  from  the  living  nude 
figure,  as  to  find  a  successful  actor  who  has  not  in  a 
similar  way  taken  his  subject  directly  from  life.  It's 
a  grand  sight  to  see  these  workers,  with  the  pencil 
and  chisel,  going  out  to  consult  nature.  Brad- 
ford, for  instance,  will  spend  months  around  the 
Arctic  circle,  among  icebergs,  walruses  and  bears,  in 
order  to  transfer  to  his  canvas  those  northern  scenes. 
Church  goes  to  the  tropics  to  watch  the  sunshine  and 
the  clouds,  and  bring  back  the  gorgeous  tints  and 
glorious  foliage  Ihat  make  his  pictures  great.  Fancy 
young  Munger  sitting  in  front  of  his  portfolio  among 
the  solitudes  of  the  West,  and  drawing  the  scene  before 


70  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

him,  with  a  couple  of  grizzly  bears  feeding  under  a 
tree  not  a  hundred  yards  away.  A  friend  of  mine  told 
me  that  wlien  he  saw  Hunger  in  his  New  York  studio 
after  his  return,  putting  the  subject  on  canvas  he 
said  to  him,  *  Why,  Gil,  are  you  painting  these  bears 
from  imagination  merely  ? '  *  From  imagination  ! 
No  ; '  said  the  artist,  '  that  was  an  actual  part  of 
my  experience.  I  happened  to  be  at  work  when  those 
two  grizzlies  came  loitering  about  just  as  you  see 
them  in  the  picture  there,  and  I  thought  it  was  a 
splendid  opportunity  to  work  them  in.'  '  But 
weren't  you  afraid  of  them?'  said  my  friend.  'No  ; 
why  should  I  be  ?  They  were  satisfying  their  hunger 
in  another  way,  and  I  knew  that  under  the  circum- 
stances unless  they  were  interfered  with  they  would 
not  interfere  with  me.'  Now,  that  is  what  I  call 
the  pursuit  of  art  under  difficulties — genuine  enthus- 
iasm.    Artist  or  actor,  however,  it's  all  the  same." 

A  REMINISCENCE  OF  JEM  WARD,   THE  PUGILIST. 

"  Right  here  I  can  give  you  a  curious  instance  in 
ray  own  experience.  Several  years  ago  I  was  a  pupil 
of  Jem  Ward,  the  celebi'ated  pugilist,  who  taught  me 
all  I  know  about  '  the  noble  art  of  self-defence.' 
When  I  went  to  London,  and  while  playing  Dun- 
dreary, I  found  Jem  in  a  state  of  great  destitution. 
For  an  uneducated  man  he  was  a  remarkably  clever 


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ABOUT    SOTHERN.  .73 

one,  and  possessed  not  a  little  real  artistic  ability 
which,  had  it  been  cultivated,  might  have  made  a 
name  for  him  in  a  higher  sphere.  He  used  to  paint 
copies  of  original  pictures,  and  was  especially  fond  of 
the  water  colors  of  Turner.  Many  of  these  copies 
were  wonderfully  bold  and  brilliant,  though  they 
showed  a  lack  of  culture  that  made  them  compara- 
tively valueless.  As  I  was  saying,  when  I  returned 
to  London  the  old  man  hunted  me  up  and  told  me 
his  circumstances.  I  aided  him  in  a  small  way,  and 
eventually  he  secured  a  little  public  house  in  White- 
chapel.  Watts  Phillips,  at  my  suggestion,  had  writ- 
ten for  me  a  piece,  in  which  I  was  to  play  the  part  of 
a  burglar,  and  in  order  to  get  myself  well  up  in  the 
character,  almost  every  night  after  the  performance 
at  the  Haymarket,  I  used  to  visit  the  neighbor- 
hood frequented  by  this  class  of  people.  Among  the 
haunts  was  the  place  of  Jem  Ward,  known  as  the 
'Little  Public'  After  one  or  two  appearances  there, 
however.  Ward  begged  me  never  to  come  again  in  my 
own  bi-ougham,  and  never  to  bring  money  or  jewelry, 
but  to  keep  up  a  running  account  with  him  and  treat 
the  fellows  right  and  left  to  nothing  more  ex- 
pensive than  beer  or  gin.  He  told  me  that  the  very 
cabs  that  took  me  home  were  owned  by  burglars, 
and  thieves,  and  for  several  nights  he  accompanied 
me  until  we  reached  the  Haymarket  theati-e  where 
I  secured  my  own  conveyance  and  went  to  my  resi- 


74  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

dence  at  Kensington.  I  was  thus  more  or  less  mixed 
up  with  many  of  the  celebrated  cracksmen,  robbers 
of  various  grades,  swell-mobsmen,  and  I  suppose 
murderers,  but  would  you  believe  it,  I  never  met 
with  the  slightest  originality  of  idea  in  any  one  of 
them.  True,  there  was  much  that  was  coarse,  and 
there  were  characteristics  of  manner  and  dress 
which  did  not  escape  my  observation,  but,  so  far 
as  I  am  aware,  that  episode  in  my  experience  was 
of  no  practical  artistic  benefit.  Dickens,  with  his 
extraordinary  pen  has  more  correctly  depicted  in 
his  character  of  JBiU  SyJces  the  imaginary  burglar, 
than  probably  will  ever  be  done  again,  but  the 
reality  don't  exist.  I  was  struck  by  the  fact  during 
my  association  with  those  people  that  every  person 
I  met  at  Ward's  had  himself  been  a  student  of 
Charles  Dickens  and  copied  his  ideal  in  his  own 
rough  and  tumble  way.  I  suppose  the  fellows  liked 
the  romance  of  the  description  and  got  themselves  up 
accordingly." 

**  But  you  won't  deny  that  Dickens  himself  made 
this  class  a  study,  and  that  he  spent  nights  and 
days,  weeks  and  months  in  pursuing  his  investiga- 
tions ?  " 

"  That's  true ;  but  Boz  mixed  such  a  vast  amount 
of  poetry  with  the  portrayal  of  these  rough  subjects, 
that  he  robbed  them  of  their  real  deformity  and 
made    his    ideals    a    great    deal    better     than     the 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  75 

originals.  In  other  words,  bis  subjects  were  over- 
drawn. You  might  say  almost  the  same  thing  about 
Landseer,  for  while  he  painted  his  animals  from 
life,  the  sympathy  and  poetry  of  the  man's  nature 
are  illustrated  in  eyes  and  general  characteristics 
that  are  almost  human  in  their  expression — another 
instance  of  exaggeration.  The  same  is  true  of  the 
Beards,  of  New  York." 


PERSONAL  TRAITS. 

"Referring  to  personal  idiosyncrasies  concerning 
which  we  were  talking  a  few  moments  ago,"  re- 
marked a  gentleman,  "I  have  observed  quite  a 
number  of  traits  about  you  that  strike  me  as 
somewhat  peculiar.  For  instance,  I  perceive  that 
while  you  are  surrounded  here  with  beautiful  birds, 
you  evidently  don't  hear  them  sing  ;  while  engaged 
in  conversation  a  rap  on  the  door  makes  you 
nervous,  and  you  say  some  of  your  best  things 
while  walking  up  and  down  the  room  with  a  cigar 
in  your  mouth." 

"  That  is  true  ;  and  there  are  other  things  that 
might  strike  you  as  equally  odd.  For  example,  I  can't 
endure  a  scent  in  the  room.  I  love  birds,  animals, 
pets  of  all  kinds,  but  take  me  away  from  a  per- 
fume.     In   my   dancing   days   when  the    girls  were 


76  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

covered  with  eau  de  Cologne  they  simply  made  me 
sick,  and  time  and  again  I  have  refused  to  dance 
for  this  reason.  I  suppose  it  is  an  hereditary  trait. 
My  sister  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  grapes  ;  I 
can't  endure  the  smell  of  cheese  ;  it  is  something 
frightful  to  me,  and  if  I  can  find  an  excuse  for 
leaving  a  table  where  it  is,  I  always  do  so.  You 
can't  account  for  these  things  any  more  than  for 
the  conformation  of  a  man's  skull." 


IMPRESSIONS  OF  A3IERICA. 

"  What  is  your  general  impression  of  the  people 
of  America,  or  rather,  what  portion  of  the  people 
do  you  like  best  ? " 

"For  that  matter,"  replied  Mr.  Sothern,  "I  ad- 
mire them  all.  The  hospitality  of  the  countiy  is 
something  wonderful.  It  is  free,  unstinted,  generous, 
and  unselfish — and  true  equally  of  Boston,  New 
York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  San  Francisco  ;  in 
fact  I  can't  mention  any  large  city  which  I  have 
visited  where  club  life  and  home  life  are  not  full 
of  social  interest  and  warmth  of  feeling.  One  of 
the  characteristics  of  the  American,  however,  which 
I  have  particularly  noticed,  is  his  utter  want  of 
repose.  In  his  business  ofBce,  in  the  ball  room,  at 
the  dinner  party,  everywhere,  he  looks  as  if  never 
quite    satisfied    with    the    present,    and    continually 


ABOUT    SOTHERN. 


77 


anticipating  something  that  has  to  be  done  on  the 
morrow.  Unlike  the  German,  he  is  always  anxious 
even  after  the  accumulation  of  wealth,  to  acquire 
more.  He  never  says  *  I  have  enough.'  There  are 
other  peculiar  traits  which  I  have  observed  indica- 
tive of  a  strong  local  individuality.  In  Boston  they 
measure  a  man  by  his  literary  attainments  ;  in 
New  York  by  his  wealth  ;  in  Philadelphia  by  his 
religious  opinions  ;  in  Baltimore  and  Norfolk  by  his 
love  of  good  living,  especially  oysters  ;  in  Washing- 
ton by  his  politics ;  in  Richmond  and  Charleston 
by  the  antiquity  of  his  family  tree  ;  in  New  Orleans 
by  his  admiration  for  gumbo ;  and  in  San  Francisco 
by  the  number  of  shares  he  owns  in  the  big 
bonanzas." 

"Don't  you  owe  much  of  your  success  to  your 
adaptability  to  these  several  conditions  of  society  V  " 

"  Perhaps  so.  Any  country  is  a  man's  home  who 
carries  with  him  a  contented  disposition.  For  this 
reason,  it  is  all  the  same  to  me  whether  I  am  in 
New  York  or  the  Feejee  Islands.  If  I  have  work 
to  do  I  can  be  happy.  I  am  not  naturally,  how- 
ever, of  a  roving  disposition.  In  youth  I  was  re- 
garded as  remarkably  quiet,  but  by  the  strangest  of 
coincidences — things  which  I  can't  explain — I  have 
been  thrown  into  a  groove  from  which  it  seems  im- 
possible to  extricate  myself.  Action  has  become 
chronic.       I     must     be     always     doing      something 


78  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

Doubtless  it  is  due  to  an  intensely  nervous  disposi- 
tion which  I  have  inherited  from  both  my  father 
and  mother.  Like  the  gout,  it  is  in  the  blood  ;  hence 
the  extreme  sensitiveness  to  slight  influences  which 
is  familiar  to  many  of  my  intimate  friends.  A  color 
on  the  wall,  a  picture  hung  awry,  a  room  full  of 
disorder  without  apparent  cause,  in  fact  a  thousand 
trifles  which  affect  nobody  else,  produce  in  me  the 
most  disagreeable  of  sensations." 

EXPERIENCE  IN  NOVA  SCOTIA. 

"  I  have  heard  some  one  speak  of  your  experience 
in  Nova  Scotia  ;  what  about  that,  Mr.  Sothern  ? " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  was  the  reply,  "  a  mere  episode, 
such  as  might  have  occured  in  the  career  of  any 
actor.  A  number  of  us  went  from  New  York — 
among  them  genial  John  T.  Raymond,  by  the  way — 
some  years  ago,  during  our  summer  vacation,  and 
I  agreed  to  pay  each  a  small  salary  sufiicient  to 
cover  their  ordinary  hotel  expenses.  We  hired  a 
barn,  scattered  some  sawdust  on  the  floor,  secured 
a  lot  of  benches  from  a  neighboring  church  and 
erected  a  small  platform  which  was  lighted  by 
candles.  We  produced  some  of  the  most  sterling 
plays,  coined  money,  for  it  had  been  nearly  a 
generation  since  the  people  of  the  neighborhood 
had    seen    anything    in     the    shape    of     a    regular 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  79 

dramatic  performance,  and  had  a  lot  of  original 
fun  generally.  Strange  to  say  we  were  deceived 
by  the  extraordinary  luck  we  had  run  against,  and 
I  built  a  neat,  cheap  wooden  structure  suitable  for 
theatrical  purposes,  and  subsequently  repeated  some 
of  the  performances,  but  it  was  a  failure — didn't 
repay  the  outlay,  and  so  we  abandoned  it.  The 
fact  is  the  audience  had  been  *  played  out.' " 

AN  ABSENT-MINDED  ACTOR 

"  Sothern,"  says  John  T.  Raymond  (better  known, 
perhaps,  as  Col.  Mulberry  Sellers),  "is  at  times  very 
absent-minded.  I  remember  that  we  were  once  going 
to  Halifax.  Both  of  us  suffered  frightfully  from  sea- 
sickness, especially  Ned.  We  occupied  the  same 
state-room,  and  Ned  the  lower  shelf,  spending  about 
half  the  time  on  his  elbow  agonizingly  investigating 
that  small  tin  concern,  which  they  hang  on  the  edge  of 
your  berth.  He  wanted  something  but  hadn't  the 
slightest  idea  what  to  call  it. 

"  '  Describe  it,'  said  I,  from  my  perch  on  the  upper 
tier. 

"  '  Oh,  don't  make  me  talk,  John — I'm — so — sick  ; 
but  its  a  round  thing — small  at  both  ends.' 

"  '  Is  it  a  banana  ?'  I  meekly  inquired. 

"  *  Ugh, — no,  no,'  almost  howled  Ned — '  it's  got 
juice  in  it.' 


8o  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"  *  An  ^^'g  ?'  said  I. 

" '  No,'  (emphatically)  said  he. 

" '  An  orange  ?'  I  suggested, 

"  *  No,  no,  don't  any  idiot  know  that  an  orange 
hasn't  a  point  at  both  ends  ?' 

" '  Perhaps  you  mean  a  hirap  of  ice,  and  you  want 
to  suck  the  juice  out  of  that.' 

"  *  No,  you  infernal  fool — I  don't  want  to  do  any 
such  ridiculous  thing.' 

"  I  now  desperately  commenced  to  catalogue  every- 
thing I  could  think  of — apples,  peaches,  apricots, 
pecan  nuts,  cucumbers,  at  all  of  which  Ned  roared 
and  raved  like  a  maniac. 

"  Finally,  the  happy  thought  struck  me — '  is  it 
a  lemon  ?'  said  I.     '  That's  moist.' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  he.  '  Why  the  d — 1  didn't  you  say 
lemon  first  ?  Now  ring  for  the  steward,  let's  have  a 
box  of  them ;  and  do  you  shut  up.' 

AN    ACTOR'S    APOLOGY. 

"One  night  while  at  Halifax,"  continued  Mr.  Ray- 
mond, "  it  Avas  arranged  that  I  should  receive  a  benefit. 
Rheumatism  had  afflicted  me  so  much  that  for  a  long 
time  I  had  been  unable  to  act,  but  on  the  evening  in 
question  I  was  comparatively  all  right.  The  play  an- 
nounced was  *  The  Corsican  Brothers,'  in  which  Sothern 
was  to  appear  as  one  of  the  '  twins.'     After  this  per- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  81 

forraance  I  was  to  recite  a  fireman's  address  in  the 
presence  of  the  fire  department.  It  turned  out  that 
Sothern,  for  some  reason,  hadn't  prepared  himself  for 
the  part — though  I  think  the  fellow  was  shamming — 
and  it  was  suggested  that  I  should  go  before  the  cur- 
tain and  make  an  apology  for  the  default,  pleading 
my  illness  as  an  excuse. 

"*Wrap  yourself  in  a  blanket,'  said  Ned,  *put  on 
some  list  shoes,  whiten  your  face  with  a  little  chalk  to 
make  yourself  look  delicate,  and  in  a  feeble  voice  tell 
the  people  how  ill  you've  been.  That  will  settle  the 
whole  thing.' 

"I  followed  Ned's  suggestion  to  the  letter,  and 
went  down  to  the  footlights  and  spoke  my  little 
speech,  as  dilapidated  a  specimen  of  mortality  as 
ever  made  himself  up  to  fill  a  dramatic  dilemma, 
concluding  with  the  remark  that  if  the  audience  would 
excuse  me,  Mr.  Sothern  would  play  '  The  Little  Treas- 
ure,' and  in  due  time  I  would  fulfill  my  promise  con- 
cerningthe  fireman's  address. 

"The* pit  called  out:  'AH  right,  provided  you'll 
give  us  "  Whack." '  This  was  the  name  of  a  song  that 
had  become  a  favorite,  and  I  was  glad  enough  to  get 
off  so  easily. 

"  Sothern  played  his  '  Little  Treasure,'  and  the  time 

arrived  for  the  'Address.'     Forgetting  my  personal 

appearance,  however,  in  the  role  of   an  apologist,  I 

rushed  on  the  stage  in  a  full  dress  suit,  split-pen  coat, 
4* 


82  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

white  necktie,  white  kids,  etc.,  with  all  the  buoyancy 
of  a  twenty-year-old  boy.  Looking  across  the  stage, 
who  should  I  see  but  Ned,  doubled  up  between  the 
wings  and  howling  with  delight  ?  The  audience  saw 
my  predicament  in  an  instant,  and  began  to  shout  and 
laugh.  I  was  *  struck  all  in  a  heap,'  as  the  saying  is, 
with  my  mouth  wide  open  ;  couldn't  remember  a  line, 
and  I  walked  off  the  stage  making  an  ass  of  myself. 

"Sothern  says,  'you  ought  to  have  carried  your 
slippers  and  blanket  in  your  hand,  to  prove  that  you 
had  them.'  You  see,  I  failed  to  preserve  the  con- 
sistency of  the  imposition,  and  I  never  had  the  heart 
to  appear  there  again. 

SOLD  BY  A  WAITER. 

"  Among  our  many  *  larks '  in  the  provinces,"  said 
Mr.  Raymond,  "I  remember  one  in  which  all  of  us 
were  badly  '  sold.'  We  were  in  the  habit  of  driving 
out  to  lunch  about  ten  miles  from  Halifax,  and  from 
the  very  beginning  of  our  excursions,  had  agreed  to 
call  each  other  by  some  high  sounding  title,  as,  for 
instance,  *  Lord  Edward,'  *  Sir  John,'  and  *  Colonel 
So-and-So.'  The  head  waiter  dropped  into  the  joke, 
and  as  we  *  tipped '  him  liberally,  not  only  addressed 
us  by  these  titles,  but  kept  what  we  supposed  was 
our  secret.  To  carry  out  the  idea,  we  were  in  the 
habit  of  making  up  a  pool,  at  the  end  of  each  visit,  to 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  83 

give  to  our  own  particular  waiter — a  very  intelligent 
Irishman,  by  the  way,  and  somewhat  ostentatious, 
otherwise  we  never  should  have  thought  of  it.  He 
was  not  only  entertaining,  and  flattered  us  by  giving 
to  each  the  benefit  of  our  assumed  honors,  but  on 
each  occasion  had  some  fresh  and  harrowing  story  to 
tell  about  his  lame  mothei',  or  sick  sister,  or  a  family 
of  suffering  children,  the  result  of  which  was  an  extra 
present  from  our  individual  purses.  As  we  parted 
with  him  on  leaving  Halifax,  you  can  fancy  our  aston- 
ishment when  our  waiter,  with  a  quiet  smile  on  his 
face,  said  : 

" '  Well,  Mr.  Sothern  and  Mr.  Raymond,  ye  fre- 
quently play  yer  parts  on  the  stage — I've  played  mine 
here.  Thank  ye  for  yer  kindness,  and  I  hope  you've 
enjoyed  yerselves.  Come  again,  and  I'll  trate  you 
twice  as  well  the  nixt  time.' 

" '  But  how  about  your  lame  mother  and  the  other 
hospital  inmates  of  your  family  ?'  inquired  Ned. 

"  '  Ah,  yer  honor,'  said  the  fellow,  with  a  sly  wink, 
*  that  was  the  price  of  yer  honors'  titles,  you  know.' 

"  He  had  given  us  *  a  Roland  for  our  Oliver.' " 

TAKING  DOWN  A  COLONEL. 

"  We  went  to  St.  John's,  N.  B.,  three  summers,  and 
played  in  a  barn  that  Harry  Isherwood,  the  scenic 
artist,  who  was  of  our  party,  had  secured  and  fitted  up 


84  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

in  a  way  that  was  at  least  habitable.  A  very  swell 
regiment  was  stationed  there,  with  most  of  the  officers 
of  which  Sothern  became  a  great  favorite.  The  colonel 
was  a  martinet — just  that  kind  of  person  that  Ned 
heartily  despises.  One  evening  when  we  had  a 
crowded  house — ^it  was  the  benefit  of  Miss  Mestayer,  I 
think — this  colonel  came  round  to  the  door,  and  de- 
manded of  Sothern  an  entrance — demanded  it,  mark 
you,  in  an  imperious  tone,  as  if  he  owned  the  place. 

" '  Who  are  you?"  said  Ned,  indignantly. 

" '  I  am  Colonel ,  of  Her  Majesty's  — th.' 

"'Well,  sir,'  replied  Ned,  'if  you  were  the  Grand 
Mogul  with  three  tails,  you  would  get  no  favors  here 
until  you  ask  for  them  like  a  gentleman.' 

"  The  consequence  was  a  quarrel,  but  Sothern  be- 
haved so  handsomely  through  it  all,  and  enforced  his 
rights  in  such  a  manly  way  that  he  won  the  sympathy 
of  the  entire  regiment,  and  the  colonel  at  last  backed 
down  and  apologized. 

SAVING   THE    CITY    OF    HALIFAX. 

"  During  our  stay  in  Halifax,  a  powder  magazine, 
or  something  of  the  kind,  situated  two  or  three  miles 
from  the  city,  exploded  one  night  between  eleven  and 
twelve  o'clock.  Most  of  the  inhabitants  had  retired  ; 
but  Sothern,  John  Dyott  and  myself,  having  just  re- 
turned from  the  theatre,  were  taking   lunch.     The 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  85 

whole  town  was  shaken  to  the  center,  and  for  the 
moment  no  one  knew  whether  it  was  an  earthquake  or 
some  other  strange  phenomenon.  Of  course  every- 
body rushed  into  the  streets,  a  great  number  only  par- 
tially dressed,  to  ascertain  if  possible  what  was  the 
cause  of  the  commotion.  When  our  party  reached 
the  pavement,  we  saw  what  seemed  to  be  a  tall,  nar- 
row, dense  black  cloud  moving  in  the  direction  of  the 
city,  and  apparently  but  a  few  hundred  yards  distant. 

"In  the  house  adjoining  the  hotel  resided  an  old 
gentleman  who,  like  others,  had  come  out  to  view  the 
spectacle,  but  who  had  evidently  jumped  from  his  bed 
in  a  hurry  and  left  everything  behind.  There  he 
stood  in  his  long  night  shirt,  bare-footed,  tangled 
haired,  and  as  comical  a  looking  sight  as  you  ever 
saw. 

"The  moment  Ned's  eyes  rested  on  him,  he  ex- 
claimed, sotto  voce :  '  Boys,  let's  have  some  fun  ! '  and 
then  quickly  turning  to  the  gentleman,  he  remarked 
in  his  quick  nervous  way  : — 

"  '  This  is  terrible,  sir,  terrible,  isn't  it — everybody 
excited — nobody  cool — you're  an  old  citizen — let's  try 
to  save  the  town  ;  now  you  run  on  one  side  of  the 
cloud  and  I'll  run  on  the  other — wake  the  people  up, 
and  shout  "  fire  !" ' 

"  With  that  Ned  darted  off  at  a  riin,  and  the  old 
man  in  his  long  night  shirt  followed  at  the  top  of  his 
speed,  with  a  pack  of  men  and  boys  yelling  like  mad 


86  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

helter-skelter  at  his  heels,  and  not  a  soul  of  them 
knowing  what  had  happened. 

"  After  going  a  short  distance  Ned  found  a  conve- 
nient corner  where  he  turned  and  made  his  way  back 
to  the  hotel,  blowing  like  a  porpoise,  but  in  high  glee 
at  the  success  of  his  ruse.  He  said  he  left  his  friend 
travelling  like  a  nightmare.  The  next  morning  we 
heard  that  he  had  run  for  nearly  a  mile  when  some- 
body stopped  him  as  an  escaped  lunatic,  and  brought 
him  home. 

"  Sothern  had  to  keep  out  of  the  way  during  the 
rest  of  our  engagement,  for  the  old  fellow  was  after 
him  with  a  club." 

A  GLASGOW  SUPPER  PARTY. 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Sothern,  one  even- 
ing, "  about  a  certain  supper  in  Glasgow  ?  It  was 
one  of  those  late  affairs  which  sometirtes  occur  after 
theatre  hours,  and  I  had  around  rae  a  number  of 
excellent  friends  and  hon  vioants,  among  whom 
was  a  professor  of  the  Glasgow  College,  several 
barristers  and  two  or  three  army  men.  This  pro- 
fessor was  a  singularly  clever  and  honest  fellow, 
but  he  had  a  peculiar  way  of  leaving  a  company, 
very  frequently  without  saying  good-bye  to  any 
person  present.  It  was  a  pure  matter  of  politeness 
on  his  part,  however,  because,  having  duties  to  per- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  87 

form  either  on  his  own  account  or  that  of  others, 
he  didn't  choose  to  make  a  feature  of  his  departure, 
and  so  disturb  the  remainder  of  the  guests.    One  of  the 

officers  was  Major ,  I  won't  mention  his  name — 

a  splendid  specimen  of  a  bluff,  honest-spoken  old 
English  gentleman.  In  the  course  of  the  conversa- 
tion at  the  table  he  remarked  :     *  I  went  to  see  the 

world-famed    conjurer,    Professor to-night,   and 

what  a  pity  it  is  that  he  should  go  on  the  stage  in 
such  a  shameful  condition  ! '  I  asked  him  what  was 
the  matter.  'Why,'  said  he,  'he  was  drunk,  sir, 
disgracefully  drunk.'  It  occurred  to  me  at  this  in- 
stant that  here  was  a  superb  chance  to  make  some 
fun,  for  I  knew  the  major  was  not  acquainted  with 
our  eccentric  guest,  the  professor  from  the  Glasgow 
College.  Therefore,  in  the  most  accidental  manner, 
crossing  my  knees  I  managed  to  touch  the  major  on 
the  leg  and  at  the  same  time  softly  *  sh-sh-sh.'  He 
turned  around  quickly,  looked  at  me,  and  became 
very  red  in  the  face,  evidently  taking  a  hint,  the 
reason  of  which  he  didn't  comprehend.  I  saw  at 
once  that  he  was  in  a  mental  muddle,  and  wink- 
ing in  a  suggestive  manner  as  much  as  to  say 
*  look  out  for  yourself,'  remarked  :  soto  voce,  '  My 
dear  sir ;  you've  made  a  mistake.  You  surely  don't 
mean  he  was  drunk  ? '  '  No,  no,'  be  replied  in  a  dis- 
concerted sort  of  way,  'not  exactly  drunk,  but — 
but — rather    confused,    you    understand.     I've    seen 


38  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

a  good   many  of  the  English  jugglers,  and  I  don't 
consider  him  as  good  as  several  whom  I  know.' 

"At  this  juncture  the  professor  took  his  hat  and 
walked  out,  which  we,  who  knew  him,  recognized  as 
his  quiet  way  of  absenting  himself  without  going 
through  the  formula  of  breaking  up  a  social  party. 
You  see  he  had  his  lecture  to  prepare  for  the  next  day, 
and  we  of  the  club  being  aware  of  that  fact,  paid  no 
attention  to  his  exit.  When  the  professor  was  fairly 
out  of  hearing  I  observed  to  the  major,  'This  is  a 
nice  mess  that  you've  made.'  'What  is  it?  What 
did  I  say?'  he  inquired  anxiously.  'Why,'  said  I, 
'  didn't  you  see  the  indignant  way  in  which  he  got  up 
and  left  the  room.  That's  the  son-in-law  of  the  conjuror 
— married  his  daughter  only  two  days  ago,  and  of 
course  he  feels  naturally  indignant  at  the  remark  which 

he  heard  you  make.'     '  D n  it,'  said  the  major, '  why 

didn't  you  tell  me  ?  You  kicked  me  and  you  confused 
me.'  'Nonsense,'  I  replied,  'I  looked  at  you  and 
winked  at  you,  and  shoo-ed  at  you,  and  tried  to  stop 
you  as  an  intelligent  being  capable  of  taking  a  hint.* 
'  Oh,  well,  well,  well,  who  the  devil  could  follow  a 
wink  like  that  ?  But  what  am  I  going  to  do  about  it  ?' 
I  suggested  that  he  should  write  the  professor  a  nice 
letter,  inasmuch  as  he  was  a  man  of  great  personal 
position,  and  explain  the  affair  in  a  semi-apologetic 
way,  stating  that  he  was  a  trifle  under  the  influence 
of  wine,  etc.     Thereupon  the  major  went  to  my  desk, 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  89 

and  at  my  dictation  scribbled  off  a  note  and  properly 
addressed  it.  '  Now,'  I  said,  '  I  will  send  this  by  nay 
own  servant,  so  that  there  shall  be  no  miscarriage.' 
Of  course  I  didn't  send  it  at  all ;  but  the  next  day  I 
wrote  a  letter  and  had  it  copied  and  signed  in  the 
professor's  name,  which  was  one  of  the  most  grossly 
insulting  in  its  character  that  I  could  conceive  of.  It 
read  something  like  this  :  *  Simply  because  you  happen 
to  be  a  cavalry  officer  and  I  a  quiet  university  profes- 
sor, you  think  you  can  insult  me  by  assailing  the 
purity  of  my  father-in-law.  As  you  yourself  confess, 
you  are  only  a  drunken  cad,'  etc.,  etc.  The  major 
came  the  next  morning  fearfully  out  of  sorts,  and 
showed  me  the  letter.  '  What  do  you  think  of  that  T 
said  he,  excitedly.  '  D n  the  professor  of  human- 
ity !  He-  calls  me  a  drunken  cad.'  I  replied  :  '  Oh, 
that's  only  his  classical  method  of  expression.'  '  By 
Jove  !  I  don't  care  for  that.  I'll  go  and  kick  him  out 
of  his  lecture  room.'  I  soothed  the  major  as  well  as  I 
knew  how,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  gone,  sat  down  and 
wrote  a  note  to  the  other  professor — the  conjuror — in 
the  name  of  Major  So-and-So,  to  the  effect  that  he  had 
received  a  letter  from  his  son-in-law  saying  that  he 
would  cowhide  him  at  the  first  opportunity.  That 
brought  another  communication  still  more  mixing  up 
matters.  Of  course  you  understand  that  I  wrote  all 
these  myself,  consequently  held  the  trump  cards  in  my 
own  hand. 


90  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"  These  letters  went  backwards  and  forwards  for 
several  days.  Finally,  I  sent  one  from  the  professor 
challenging  the  major,  and  at  the  same  time  caused 
a  number  of  telegraphic  messages  to  be  transmitted 
from  different  parts  of  Scotland  from  men  with  whom 
I  knew  he  was  intimate,  expressive  of  their  astonish- 
ment that  a  gentleman  so  well  known  for  his  high 
courage,  should  have  been  guilty  of  conduct  so  utterly 
unbecoming  his  position.  Now  the  major  was  a  man 
of  warm  temperament,  who,  in  by-gone  days,  in  India 
and  elsewhere,  had  been  fighting  duels  about  once  a 
week,  although  such  a  piece  of  absurdity,  at  the 
present  hour,  would  have  resulted  in  his  being  cash- 
iered. As  a  consequence,  he  was  thrown  into  a  state 
of  extreme  excitement  and  perplexity.  Just  about 
this  time  I  started  for  London,  leaving  behind  me  a 
batch  of  letters  and  telegrams,  to  be  sent  to  the  major 
on  the  following  day.  They  were  of  the  most  slight- 
ing and  insulting  description.  Rendered  utterly  des- 
perate by  these,  he  followed  me  to  London,  sending 
me  a  telegram  in  advance,  saying  that  he  desired  to 
act  on  my  advice  in  the  premises,  and  would  meet  me 
at  a  given  hour  for  consultation.  I  then  arranged  it 
to  have  the  professor  from  Glasgow  dine  with  me  the 
very  day  the  major  was  to  call.  As  the  latter  walked 
into  the  room  he  was  completely  staggered  when  the 
professor  advanced  and  shook  him  by  the  hand  in  the 
most  cordial  and  amicable  manner.     Of  course  the 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  91 

major  couldn't  resist  what  he  now  regarded  as  an 
evidence  of  good  will,  and  commenced  to  make  expla- 
nations. The  professor  listened  in  astonishment,  and 
declared  his  entire  innocence  of  the  whole  affair. 
Not  having  the  ghost  of  an  idea  what  it  was  all 
about,  he  thought  the  major  was  drank  ;  and  as  I 
kept  making  signs  to  him,  he  treated  him  accordingly. 
The  whole  thing  was  so  ludicrous  that  at  last  we  all 
of  us  burst  into  a  hearty,  good-natured  laugh,  which 
was  redoubled  when  I  told  the  whole  story.  I  ought 
to  say,  that  I  never  would  have  indulged  in  this  little 
joke  had  it  not  been  that  the  major,  some  weeks  pre- 
viously, had  got  me  into  comparative  trouble  by  a 
practical  joke  of  his  own,  of  which  I  was  the  victim. 
My  revenge  was  natural  and  most  complete." 

AN    AMATEUR    VENTRILOQUIST. 

*'  I  think  that  one  of  the  most  reckless  affairs  with 
which  I  have  ever  had  to  do,"  continued  the 
narrator,  "  occun-ed  at  the  house  of  a  friend  of  mine 
who  was  himself  fond  of  a  joke,  and  had  at  home 
abundant  opportunity  for  the  making  of  one.  A 
regiment  had  just  arrived  from  the  Crimean  war, 
and  was  forwarded  to  Glasgow  to  be  quartered 
there.  My  friend  asked  the  officers  to  dine  immedi- 
ately after  their  arrival,  although  he  was  a  stranger 
to  them  all  except  by  reputation.     He  invited  me 


92  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

to  go  with  him,  remarking  :  '  Now,  Ned,  let  us  have 
some  fun,'  and  we  at  once  concocted  a  plan.  I 
knew  his  residence  very  well  and  could  do  anything 
I  pleased  in  it.  With  his  leave  I  sent  for  a  stone 
mason  and  told  him  to  ascertain  where  the  flue  ^ 
from  the  fire  grate  made  its  exit  on  the  roof,  as  I 
wanted  bim  that  night  during  the  dinner  to  call 
down  the  chimney  in  answer  to  any  question  I 
might  ask.  My  friend,  the  host,  meanwhile,  was  to 
introduce  me  to  his  guests  as  a  celebrated  American 
ventriloquist  who  was  about  to  appear  in  London, 
and  was  acknowledged  to  be  the  most  extraordi- 
nary artist  of  the  kind  in  the  world.  While  the 
meal  was  going  on  Colonel  Harris,  a  very  aristo- 
cratic old  man,  though  rather  pompous,  gradu- 
ally began  to  throw  out  suggestions  and  to  lead 
conversation  in  the  direction  of  ventriloquial  sub- 
jects. I,  of  course,  pretended  to  be  very  bashful, 
and  to  avoid  any  allusion  to  the  theme.  After 
much  solicitation  however,  I  consented  to  speak  as 
he  said,  only  two  or  three  words.  Mark  you  I  had 
timed  the  experiment  so  that  it  should  be  exactly 
eight  o'clock,  or  within  a  few  minutes  of  it,  when 
I  knew  that  my  mason  would  be  keeping  his  en- 
gagement at' the  other  end  of  the  chimney.  Going 
to  the  fire-place  I  shouted  at  the  top  of  my  voice, 
for  it  was  a  deuced  long  way  up,  '  Are  you  there  ? ' 
but    there    was    no    resjionse.     I  came  to  the   con- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  93 

elusion  that  as  by  this  time  it  was  raining  very 
hard,  the  stone  mason  had  got  sick  of  the  whole 
business  and  left  the  roof.  Imagine  my  surprise 
when  in  eight  or  ten  seconds  afterwards,  just  as  I 
had  turned  and  was  going  to  tell  the  colonel 
that  my  failure  was  due  entirely  to  an  ulcerated 
sore    throat,    a     deep     voice    was    heard     hallooing 

down   the  flue  :    '  I    don't    hear    a    d d    word ! ' 

The  colonel,  oflicers,  and  all  the  guests  looked 
perfectly  staggered.  I  immediately  took  advan- 
tage of  the  situation  and  remarked  :  *  There, 
you  see  how  badly  I  did  !  You  notice  what  a 
guttural  tone  there  was  in  my  voice  ;'  but  they  all 
crowded  around  me  and  said  it  was  the  most  extra- 
ordinary thing  they  ever  heard  in  their  lives,  and 
begged  me  to  repeat  the  experiment.  I  had  pre- 
viously made  the  arrangement  with  the  mason  that 
when  I  said  '  good-bye '  three  times,  he  would  under- 
stand that  I  would  require  him  no  more.  I  therefore 
shouted  out  '  good-bye '  three  times,  and  getting  no 
response  concluded  that  he  had  gone,  and  thought  no 
more  about  the  matter.  About  an  hour  after  this, 
the  colonel  was  leaning  against  the  mantel-piece, 
smoking  a  cigar,  when  he  turned  to  me — I  was  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room — and  said  :  *  Col.  Slayter,' 
(by  which  name  I  had  been  introduced  to  the  com- 
pany), '  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  you  are 
the  most  extraordinary  ventriloquist  alive.     Now,  in 


94  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

my  own  little  way  I  occasionally  tiy  to  amuse  my  chil- 
dren in  the  same  manner,  but  it  is  really  absurd  after 
the  wonderful  eflFect  you  have  produced,  to  give  you 
an  illustration  here ;  still  I  will  try.  For  instance, 
when  at  home  I  sometimes  put  my  head  up  the  chim- 
ney and  shout :  '  Are  you  coming  down  ?'  and  the 
old  gentleman  accompanied  the  action  to  the  words. 
Judge  of  our  utter  amazement  when  a  yell  was  heard 
in  the  chimney,  *  Oh,  go  to  the  devil  !  I  have  had 
enough  of  this.'  It  so  happened  that  I  was  chatting 
with  a  number  of  the  officers  at  the  moment,  and  the 
colonel  almost  reeled  up  against  the  table  in  his  aston- 
ishment at  such  an  unexpected  reply.  Everybody 
looked  at  him  as  if  for  an  explanation.  Taking  in  the 
situation  quickly  and  carelessly  stepping  forward,  I 
said  :  *  There,  gentlemen,  that  is  my  last  effort.  I  am 
suflfering  so  much  from  bronchial  affection  that  you 
must  really  excuse  me  from  any  further  exhibition.' 
One  and  all  of  them  gathered  around  me  and  again 
wrung  my  hands  expressing  their  amazement  at  the 
high  art  I  had  evinced,  and  promised  me  a  magnificent 
reception  whenever  I  should  appear  in  public.  It  was 
as  much  as  I  and  my  friend  could  do  to  preserve  serious 
faces.  The  joke  was  too  good  to  keep  long,  and  in  a 
little  while  afterwards  in  the  course  of  conversation, 
the  host  said,  *  By  the  way,  Sothern,  do  you  remem- 
ber so  and  so  ?'  *  What  !'  said  all  the  officers,  look- 
ing up,  'Sothern  1     I  thought  this  was  Col.  Slayter.' 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  95 

*  Oh,  no,'  replied  my  friend,  *  that's  Lord  Dundreary? 
The  result  was  a  joke  out  and  half  a  dozen  rounds  of , 
champagne  in.     That  was  my  first  and  last  experience' 
as  a  ventriloquist. 

A  JOKE  ON  HIS  MANAGER 

"Two  or  three  weeks  ago,  Mr.  Henry  E.  Abbey, 
my  manager,  and  I  had  a  small  wager  about  the 
nightly  increase  and  decline  of  our  audiences.  He 
finally  owed  me  a  couple  of  silk  hats,  and  wrote  an 
order  on  one  of  the  principal  merchants  here,  asking 
that  they  should  be  sent  to  him  at  the  box  office  of 
the  Park  Theatre.  In  his  loose  way  of  writing,  he 
had  left  a  blank  space  befoi'e  the  number  2,  and  when 
his  back  was  turned,  I  quickly  put  a  '  6 '  in  the  gap. 
The  letter  was  folded  and  mailed,  and  in  the  course 
of  time,  perplexed  as  the  hatter  must  have  been  by 
this  extraordinary  requirement  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Abbey,  the  sixty-two  hats  were  sent  down  to  the 
theatre,  together  with  a  bill,  and  a  letter  exprei/.ing 
his  astonishment  at  such  a  large  order.  Mr.  Abbey  was 
in  an  adjoining  apartment  when  the  hats  arrived^  and 
you  can  conceive  his  amazement  on  finding  that  he 
litei'ally  could  not  get  into  the  box  office,  as  there  was 
only  just  room  enough  for  treasurer  Tilotson  and  the 
sixty-two  hat  boxes.  The  boy  who  accompAnied  the 
hats  also  brought  Mr.  Abbey's  order,  which  was  writ 


96  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

ten  in  pencil.  I  was  on  the  look-out,  and  before  the 
lad  entered  the  vestibule,  I  had  taken  the  letter  from 
him  and  quietly  rubbed  out  my  original  6,  so  that 
Abbey  received  and  read  the  order  just  as  he  had 
written  it ;  that  is  to  say,  for  two  hats.  He  showed 
it  to  me,  and  I  read  it  aloud  as  innocently  as  I  am 
now  talking  to  you. 

"  Said  he  :     *  What  the  devil  does  Mr. mean 

by  sending  me  sixty-two  hats,  when  this  order  only 
calls  for  two  !' 

"  I  replied :  '  Poor  fellow  !  He  must  be  at  it 
again.' 

"  *  What  do  you  mean  ?'  said  he. 

" '  Oh,  it  only  shows  what  drink  will  do,  if  a  man 
persists  in  it.  You  had  better  send  the  hats  back, 
with  some  gentle  advice  concerning  his  habits,  and 
pay  your  bill.' 

"They  were  thereupon  immediately  returned  to  the 
store,  with  a  sharp  letter  from  the  manager.  A  cor- 
respondence followed  which,  I  think,  was  not  defi- 
nitely explained  to  the  satisfaction  of  either  party 
until  I  told  the  story  on  Abbey,  the  other  night,  at 
Delmonico's. 


AUTOGRAPH   HUNTERS. 

"During  my  stay  in  London  I  used  to  receive  hun* 
dreds  of  communications  weekly,  not  only  from  beg- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  97 

ging  letter-writers,  but  from  people  who  made  it  a 
business  to  collect  autographs  for  the  purpose  of  sell- 
ing them.  They  were  a  terrible  nuisance  to  me,  and 
I  finally  abandoned  all  attempts  to  reply  to  them.  In 
lieu  of  a  written  response,  however,  I  had  some  hun- 
dreds of  peculiar  envelopes  made  with  the  following 
head  line  printed  in  scarlet  ink  on  the  back  :  '  Curious 
specimens  of  contagious  bedding,'  and  in  these  envel- 
opes my  valet  was  instructed  to  place  little  pieces  of 
cotton  batting  and  to  address  them  to  people  who 
were  boring  me  with  their  requests.  From  what  I 
afterwards  heard  it  is  impossible  to  convey  an  idea  of 
the  annoyance  which  this  vague  sort  of  reply  occa- 
sioned. The  clerks  in  the  post-office  could  not  refuse 
to  receive  them,  nor  could  the  postman  refuse  to  de- 
liver them.  The  servants  of  the  houses  at  which  they 
were  delivered  were  obliged  to  take  them  in,  and  the 
people  to  whom  they  were  addressed  were  in  the 
majority  of  instances  curious  enough  to  desire  to  see 
the  contents.  Inside  the  envelope  was  written,  '  with 
Mr.  Sothern's  compliments.'  I  received  a  good  many 
insulting  letters  in  response  to  this  style  of  dealing 
with  the  begging  public,  but  my  object  was  effected  in 
largely  diminishing  a  very  obnoxious  correspondence. 

THE    ART    OF    FLYING. 

"  One  of  the  oddest  experiences  of   my  New  York 
6 


98  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

life,"  said  Mr.  Sothern,  "  was  an  attempt  to  drag  rae 
into  an  absurd  joke,  of  which  I  pledge  you — not  ex- 
actly my  honor — but  my  purse,  that  I  have  but  a 
very  remote  knowledge.  Florence  and  I  were  one 
day  talking  about  the  folly  of  people  in  acting  like  a 
flock  of  sheep  who  follow  the  example  of  their  leader. 
See  a  man  look  upward  and  he  will  gather  a  crowd. 
Let  him  hunt  for  a  supposititious  something,  and  scores 
of  people  will  assemble  to  aid  him  in  the  search. 
Florence  concluded,  by  way  of  illustration,  to  try  his 
hand  in  a  higher  sphere,  and  so  selected  as  the  field 
of  his  exploits  Trinity  Church,  which,  as  you  are 
aware,  has  one  of  the  tallest  spires  in  the  city.  My 
first  intimation  that  he  had  laid  his  plans,  was  the 
publication  of  the  following  circular — 

"  •  THE  AKT  OP  FLYIXG. 

"'Professor  Cantell  A.  Biglie,  of  the  scientific 
school  of  Wisconsin  university,  has  the  honor  to  in- 
form the  public  that  he  will  give  an  exhibition  of  his 
completed  apparatus,  for  navigating  the  air,  on  Wed- 
nesday afternoon,  the  9th  inst.,  at  three  o'clock,  pre- 
cisely, in  the  vicinity  of  Trinity  Church.  The  pro- 
fessor proposes  to  fly  from  house  to  house  across 
Broadway,  at  angles,  then  from  Trinity  to  Bowling 
Green  and  return ;  and  will  ascend  as  high  as  the 
summit  of  Trinity  steeple,  and  hover  a  few  hours 
in  that  vicinity.     An  opportunity  will  be  given  after 


BROTHER   BAM. 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  loi 

the  exhibition  to  examine  the  apparatus.     The  people 
are  respectfully  invited.' 

"Such,  in  brief,  was  the  bait  offered,  and  it  was 
greedily  swallowed.  At  half-past  twelve  on  the  day 
in  question,  a  little  knot  of  people  had  gathered  close 
to  the  churchyard  railings ;  at  one  o'clock  the  pave- 
ment was  in  a  measure  obstructed.  At  two  the  tide 
overflowed  into  the  street,  and  by  three,  P.  M.,  the 
advertised  hour  of  exhibition,  the  whole  breadth  of 
Broadway  was  -occupied  by  a  densely  packed  and 
struggling  mass  of  humanity,  whilst  in  addition  to  the 
rush  of  the  main  artery,  both  Wall  and  Pine  streets 
contributed  steady  contingents  to  the  already  swollen 
crowd.  As  the  church  clock  clanged  forth  the  hour 
anxious  eyes  were  turned  upwards,  but  as  yet  the 
professor  '  gave  no  sign  ; '  the  quarter  next  sounded, 
and  still  the  old  steeple  bore  every  aspect  of  being 
untenanted,  whilst  amongst  the  keener  spirits  in  the 
crowd  a  horrible  suspicion  commenced  to  dawn,  that 
the  whole  thing  was  a  *  sell.^  The  suspicion  speedily 
became  a  certainty,  and  with  wild  yells  the  'sold^ 
rushed  into  the  churchyard  and  endeavored  to  force 
their  way  into  the  steeple.  It  was  a  queer  sight. 
Respectable  family  men.  Wall  street  brokers  and 
quiet  individuals,  who  would  not  for  the  life  of  them 
have  been  mixed  up  in  a  '  mob  riot '  were  unwillingly 
carried  into  the  churchyard,  in  spite  of  their  frantic 
gesticulations,  many  of  them  hatless.  The  sexton,  how- 


I02  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

ever,  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  the  solid  door 
resisted  all  attacks,  although  again  and  again  renewed. 
Wearied  at  length  by  fruitless  effort  the  mob  now 
slowly  dispersed,  the  sacred  edifice  was  left  in  its 
normal  state  of  quietude,  and  then  from  the  safe  shel- 
ter afforded  by  the  stately  tomb  erected  to  the  memory 
of  Captain  Lawrence,  the  sailor  hero,  three  figures 
stealthily  crept,  bearing  a  wondrous  resemblance  to 
Sothern,  Florence,  and  John  M'Cullough.  In  the  first 
instance,"  proceeded  Sothern,  as  he  recited  the  story, 
"  the  fancied  resemblance  was  a  most  unfortunate  one, 
for  it  attracted  the  argus  eye  of  a  member  of  the  repor- 
torial  staff  of  the  New  York  Herald,  who  at  once  pro- 
ceeded to  fix  the  authorship  of  this  outrageous  prac- 
tical joke  upon  your  humble  servant.  In  the  next 
issue  of  the  paper,  to  my  amazement,  the  following 
letter  appeared,  purporting  to  be  signed  by  myself  : 

"  Gramercy  Park  Hotel,  Thursday,  Noon. 
«  To  the  Editor  of  the  Herald: 

"  Will  you  kindly  state  that  I  am  not  responsible 
for  the  *  Flying  Hoax '  at  Trinity  Church  on  Wed- 
nesday last.  Believing,  with  Washington,  that  it  is 
wrong  to  tell  a  story,  I  will  simply  state  that  Florence 
did  it.  Yours,  &c.,  E.  A.  Sothern. 

"  This  forged  disclaimer  at  once  set  a  reporter  on 
Florence's  track,  and  on  his  arrival  at  the  wretched 
Billy's  'diggings,'  something  like  the  following  con- 
versation ensued  : 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  103 

"  Repoeteb. — I  have  a  letter  here  from  Sothem, 
charging  you  with  the  authorship  of  the  '  Trinity 
Church  sell.' 

"  Billy. — I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  sir,  that  I 
know  nothing  of  the  matter.  It  is  another  atrocious 
joke  of  Sothern's.  I  say,  Palmer  (again  examining 
the  letter),  that  looks  very  like  my  handwriting, 
doesn't  it?  Sothern  has  imitated  it,  that's  evident 
(with  resignation).  What  a  ruffian  he  is  !  Why,  he 
gave  me  his  word  that  he  would  not  perpetrate  any 
more  practical  jokes,  and  now,  here  he  is,  trying  to 
get  me  into  another  scrape.     Blood  must  yet  be  shed  I 

"  Reporter. — Do  you  really  think  Buggins  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it  ?' 

"  Billy  (hopelessly). — Well,  he  may  have  helped ; 
but  it  was  only  the  other  day  Sothern  sent  three  tons 
of  coal  to  my  house,  in  Park  avenue,  and  my  present 
tenant  was  in  a  terrible  rage  at  having  the  coal  de- 
livered,  without  his  orders,  and  lying  all  day  on  the 
sidewalk. 

"  Reporter. — Why  don't  you  pay  Sothern  back  in 
his  own  coin. 

"  Billy. — I  wish  I  could.  (Queries  with  anxiety) 
Are  you  going  'round  to  Wallack's,  to  see  Sothern  ? 

"  Reporter. — Yes. 

"  Billy. — Watch  him  carefully  ;  he  will  probably 
use  the  utmost  efforts  to  conceal  his  guilt. 

"  I  had  just  put  the  finishing  touches  to  my  make- 


I04  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

up  as  Lord  Dundreary,  when  I  rushed  against  the 
man  of  letters,  who  appeared  breathlessly  anxious,  and 
slightly  nervous.  In  order  to  put  him  at  his  ease,  I 
accosted  him  with,  '  Well,  old  fellow,  I  am  glad  to 
meet  you  ;  I  found  your  card  at  my  hotel  the  other 
day,  and  am  sorry  I  wasn't  in.     What's  afloat  now  ?' 

"  Reportee. — I  have  a  letter  here,  Mr.  Sothern, 
signed  with  your  name  and  addressed  to  the  editor  of 
the  Herald,  in  which  you  charge  Mr.  William  J. 
Florence  with  having  originated  the  'Flying  Hoax,' 
at  Trinity  Church  (exhibiting  letter). 

"  Sothern. — Oh,  my  dear  sir,  this  is  simply  atro- 
cious. I  never  saw  the  letter,  much  less  wrote  it. 
You  know  I  am  as  fond  of  a  lark  as  anybody,  when 
there  is  any  lark  going,  but  this  thing  is  evidently  the 
work  of  that  infernal  scoundrel,  Florence. 

"Reporter. — I  have  just  seen  Mr.  Florence,  and 
he  intimated  to  me  that  he  believed  you  to  be  a 
ruflian  of  the  deepest  dye,  and  capable  of  committing 
any  crime.  He  states  that  you  sent  fourteen  tons  of 
coal  to  his  house  on  Park  avenue,  for  the  purpose  of 
embroiling  him  in  a  vendetta  with  his  tenant. 

"Plere  I  could  not  resist  laughing  immoderately 
at  the  absurdity  of  the  whole  thing,  but  on  my 
recovery  I  dismissed  the  reporter,  somewhat  as  fol- 
lows :  '  I  acknowledge  the  coal  transaction,  but  T  assert 
that  Florence  must  have  imposed  on  you  with  a  base 
imitation  of  my  handwriting.     A  man  must  draw  a 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  105 

line  somewhere,  and  I  draw  it  at  forgery  ;  so  I'll  have 
Florence  arrested  in  the  morning.' 

"But  I  didn't  get  him  arrested  after  all,"  said  the 
genial  host,  "  nor  have  I  succeeded  in  convincing  quite 
a  number  of  intimates  that  1  was  not  the  originator  of 
the  *  Trinity  Church  hoax.'     Still  I  wasnH:' 

SOTHERN  AND  THE  COUNT  JOANNES. 

Among  the  curious  incidents  in  Sothern's  career 
during  his  recent  visit  to  New  York  (1877-78), 
was  a  suit  brought  by  George,  the  Count  Joannes, 
formerly  an  actor,  but  in  late  years  an  eccentric  law- 
yer, to  stop  the  performance  of  the  "Crushed  Tra- 
gedian," on  the  ground  that  the  "make-up"  maligned 
the  Count  and  generally  burlesqued  his  identity. 
A  reporter  of  one  of  the  papers,  who  called  on 
Sothern  for  information  concerning  the  case,  writes  as 
follows : 

"He  had  just  driven  np  and  was  alighting  from  his 
coupe  when  a  reporter  reached  the  stage  door  of  the 
Park  Theatre.  As  the  *  Crushed  Tragedian '  was  to 
come  on  very  shortly,  he  invited  the  caller  to  go  into 
his  dressing-room  and  talk  with  him  while  he  was 
making  up.  He  had  not  heard  of  the  Count's  proceed- 
ing, and  was  inclined  to  discredit  the  story.  'It's 
some  joke,'  said  he,  unbuttoning  his  shirt  collar  and 
reading  a  slip  of  newspaper  which  had  been  handed 


lo6  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

him,  containing  an  application  of  the  Count  to  tha 
court.  '  Why,  I  never  saw  the  man  but  once  in  my  life, 
and  that  was  four  months  after  I  began  the  "  Crushed 
Tragedian."  Does  he  really  look  like  the  Crushed  ? 
Well,  God  help  him !  Been  thirty  years  making  a 
reputation — that's  not  an  unusual  time  ;  have  known 
it  to  take  longer — and  I  am  taking  it  from  him  !  Come, 
now,  that's  too  much  !  Seriously,  is  this  thing  true  ? 
Well,  if  it  is,  and  if  I  have  to  go  down  to  that  court  to 
show  cause,  by  George,  I  pity  the  man  that  brings  me. 
I  won't  let  him  rest  while  his  worried  life  clings  to 
him  !  I  have  a  dozen  such  suits  on  hand  now,  and  one 
more  won't  trouble  me  much.  He  shall  get  telegrams 
and  postals  from  this  time  on  forever.  Do  about  it  ? 
Why,  I  shall  appear,  of  course.  But  I  don't  know  the 
first  thing  about  it,  except  what  you  have  just  told  me. 
Now,  my  hair — (to  his  servant,  who  handed  it) — has 
the  Count  Joannes  really  hair  like  this  ?  I  cannot  be- 
lieve it — it  is  some  monstrous  sell.' 

"  Mr.  Sothern  had  put  on  the  long,  solemn  hair  of 
the  'Crushed  Tragedian,'  and  his  eyes  were  circled 
about  with  rings  of  tearful  red,  when  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door  and  another  reporter  was  announced 
— from  the  Tribune.  Mr.  Sothern  threw  a  look  of 
dark  suspicion  into  his  eye  and  sadly  shook  hand 
with  him." 

"I  suppose    you   have  heard,   Mr.   Sothern,"   said 
the  new  comer,   "that  the   Count  Joannes  has  ob- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  107 

tained  an  order  from  the  court  for  you  to  show 
cause  why  you  should  not  be  enjoined  from  playing 
the  '  Crushed  Tragedian ?  '" 

"  Is  this  a  joke,  sir  ?  "  said  the  actor,  stiffly,  very. 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed !  he  really  has.  Haven't  you 
heard  of  it?" 

"I  think  there  is  a  conspiracy,  and  now  it  strikes 
me  that  you  are  in  it.  But  go  on,  sir.  I  never  played 
a  practical  joke  in  my  life,  but — ^but  go  on,  sir." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Sothern,  this  is  a  serious  matter. 
The  Count  has  actually  applied  " 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  on  your  honor  that 
you  are  not  attempting  to  joke  with  me?" 

"No,  indeed,  I" 

"  Then  I  will  say  that  when  I  go  down  to  the 
court  I  shall  enter  into  a  disquisition  on  the  Trojan 
war  and  discuss  Sanscrit  at  length.  I  am  not  to  be 
trifled  with." 

"  Do  you  anticipate  any  personal  trouble  between 
the  Count  and  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  c?o,"  responded  the  actor,  pulling  off  his  trousers. 

"  In  case  of  a  duel,  whom  would  the  challenge 
naturally  come  from  ?  " 

"Oh,  from  him.  He  is  my  senior,  and  I  would 
not  think  of  cutting  in  in  such  a  matter." 

"  But  he  is  titled,  and  so  far  as  I  know,  a  similal 
honor  has  never  been  conferi'ed  upon  you  by  any 
German  potentate." 


io8  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"  Only  because  I  was  too  busy  to  go  for  it.  .  It's 
waiting  for  me  and  I  can  have  it  any  time  I  please." 

"How  would  you  fight  the  Count  if  he  should 
call  on  you  ?  " 

"  I  prefer  the  first  of  April,  but  I  haven't  considered 
the  matter  fully,  still  I  think  with  cannon  !  Yes,  on 
reflection  I  am  sure  I  shall  insist  upon  those  new  Paris 
cannon  that  discharge  170  shots  a  minute.  He  shall 
sit  upon  one  of  these  engines  and  I  upon  the  other, 
when  they  shall  be  discharged  ;  and  straightway  there 
shall  be  no  remnant  of  either  the  Count  or  Sothern  ! " 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  joking,  sir.  I  wish  we  were 
not  obliged  to  confine  ourselves  strictly  to  facts,  for 
I  think  there  is  a  good  deal  of  humor  in  this  thing." 

"  Oh,  come,  now,"  returned  the  actor,  "  don't  say 
that  about  facts.  You  will  make  me  laugh  and  I 
shall  crack  the  paint." 

"  Well,  what  shall  I  say,  Mr.  Sothern  ?  " 

"  Say  that  we  shall  fight  with  cannon,  with  im- 
proved Gatling  guns,  and  that  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  the  matter  whatever.  Say  that  I  don't 
know  anything  about  the  Count  Joannes  and  that 
I  will  shoot  him  to  death  with  a  Gatling  gun.  Say 
that  if  I  ever  see  him  again  I  will  get  myself  up  to 
look  just  like  him,  if  he  looks  any  worse  than  I  do 
now.     Say  that  the  Crushed  Tragedian,  once  trodden 

on,  never  sleeps.      Say — oh,   say   what   you   d n 

please  ! ! ! " 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  109 


CALIFORNIA   HOSPITALITY.— SOTHERN  IN   JAIL. 

"It  was  one  of  those  delightful  practical  jokes,'' 
said  the  narrator,  "  which  occur  in  the  lives  of  clever 
fellows  and  are  remembered  among  the  happy  events 
of  existence. 

"  The  sun  of  the  Pacific  slope  was  just  setting  in  a 
sea  of  gold,  twilight  was  coming  down  the  mountains  on 
the  East.  Poor  Edwin  Adams  and  Florence  sat  in 
one  of  the  parlors  of  the  Palace  Hotel  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. They  were  anxiously  looking  for  Sothern,  and 
never  did  two  boys  await  the  arrival  of  an  elder 
brother,  after  a  long  absence  from  home,  with  more 
eager  anticipation. 

"  *  What  time  is  it  ?'  said  Florence.  '  I  wonder 
when  the  train  will  be  here  ?  Wait  a  moment,  I'll  in- 
quire at  the  office.' 

"  Billy  soon  returned  with  the  news  that  the  train 
was  coming  and  would  be  at  the  depot  at  10  o'clock 
with  their  friend  on  board. 

"  *  That's  glorious  !'  exclaimed  Ned.  '  I  wonder  how 
the  dear  boy  is  ;  I  don't  think  I  ever  had  such  pleasur- 
able anticipations.' 

"  '  Why,  of  course  he  is  well,'  said  Billy,  *  he  is  al- 
ways well.  Now,  Ned,  look  out  for  fun,  I'm  going  to 
square  up  my  joke  account  with  Dundreary.  It's  the 
very  time  to  do  it,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me.' 


no  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"  *  Good,'  said  Ned,  '  I  am  with  you,  my  boy,  go 
ahead.' 

" '  The  practical  jokes  that  he  has  played  upon  me,' 
said  Billy,  *  have  been  original  and  very  funny.  The 
ingenuity  of  the  scamp  has  been  something  wonderful : 
for  a  good  square,  original  practical  joke  no  man  that 
ever  I  heard  of  can  touch  Ned  Sothern  ;  his  inventive 
powers  are  marvellous.  I'll  tell  you,  while  we  are 
waiting,  one  or  two  he  played  upon  me. 

"'He  once  inserted  an  advertisement  in  the  New 
York  Herald,  the  substance  of  which  was  that  I 
wanted  ten  dogs,  two  each,  Newfoundland,  black-and- 
tan,  spitz,  setters  and  a  poodle,  and  that  the  dog  men 
should  apply  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  until 
three  in  the  afternoon,  for  three  days,  at  my  residence. 

"  *  The  next  morning  by  eight  o'clock  the  street  in 
front  of  my  house  was  crowded  with  men  and  dogs 
fighting  their  way  around  the  front  stoop.  Aroused 
by  the  infernal  noise  I  got  out  of  my  bed,  went  to  the 
window,  and  as  I  drew  back  the  curtain  and  exposed 
my  head  and  shoulders,  every  fellow  in  that  motley 
crowd  held  up  his  dog  and  yelled,  '  Here  he  is,  Mr. 
Florence,  this  is  the  one  you  want.'  I  don't  know 
what  else  they  said,  for  the  howling  and  barking  of 
the  dogs  and  the  laughter  of  the  crowd  drowned  all 
other  sounds.  I  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  this 
strange  sight.  Mrs.  F.  came  to  the  window,  took  in 
the  scene,  and  with  that  nice   perception  of   things 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  xii 

which  never  deserts  the  sex  in  an  emergency,  said : 
*  Why,  I  see  what  this  is  ;  it  cannot  be  anything  but 
one  of  Ned  Sothern's  jokes,  my  dear,'  and  with  that 
she  exclaimed,  '  look,  loohy  it's  he  !  There  is  Sothern 
himself !' 

"  *  I  had  retreated  a  short  distance  from  the  window, 
but  when  Mrs.  F.  said  that  the  great  joker  was  present 
in  person  I  went  forward,  and  sure  enough  there  he 
was,  looking  at  a  beautiful  skye  terrier,  which  he  after- 
wards purchased.  He  turned  to  my  window  and  with 
that  characteristic  way  he  has  of  adjusting  his  eye- 
glass, he  put  it  on  and  looked  straight  at  me  as  if 
he  had  never  seen  me,  and  then  innocently  asked  a 
boy,  who  was  holding  an  ugly  cur,  '  who  lives  in  that 
house  ?  What  queer  person  is  that  who  is  shaking  his 
fist  at  us  ?'  '  Why,  Florence,  the  actor,  lives  there, 
and  he  advertised  for  dogs,  and  that's  what's  the 
matter,'  answered  the  urchin. 

"  '  Going  into  the  dog  business,  I  suppose  ? '  said 
Sothern.  *  Yes,'  said  the  boy,  '  I  reckon  he  is — he  is 
always  doing  something  for  us  fellows.'  Dundreary 
jogged  along  among  the  crowd  and  he  said  after- 
wards, it  was  one  of  his  most  successful  jokes. 

"  *  At  another  time,  he  sent  three  or  four  undertakers 
to  my  house  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  The  last 
trick  he  played  upon  me  was  very  good.  I  had  invited 
a  number  of  fellows  to  dine  with  me,  and  we  were 
expecting  a  good  time.     When  we  were  pretty  well 


ZX9  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

through  the  dessert,  one  of  the  gentlemen  went 
outside  into  the  hall  and  in  a  few  minutes  returned, 
saying  that  there  was  an  old  man  at  the  door  who 
wished  to  see  Mr.  Florence,  and  that  he  would  not  go 
away  until  I  came  to  the  door.  After  a  little  while  I 
went  out  and  found  the  antediluvian  on  the  stoop  out- 
side. He  seemed  to  be  very  infirm  and  quite  lame. 
I  invited  him  inside  and  he  told  that  he  was  about  to 
return  to  the  old  country  ;  that  he  had  lost  all  of  his 
family  in  America,  and  was  going  home  to  the  land  of 
his  fathers  to  die.  He  had  a  few  things  left  from  the 
general  wreck  of  his  household  which  he  wished  to 
sell,  and  thereupon  took  some  mantel  ornaments  and 
other  articles  of  virtu  from  his  pocket,  saying  they 
were  the  last  things  he  had  saved,  and  if  I  could  spare 
him  |300  for  them  he  could  buy  a  steerage  ticket  that 
would  carry  him  home. 

"  *  I  saw  that  the  articles  were  valuable,  told  him 
to  keep  them  and  handed  him  $300.  Thinking  I  had 
done  a  pretty  good  thing  I  returned  to  the  dining- 
room  and  gave  orders  to  the  servant  to  let  the  beg- 
gar out.  The  servant  returned,  saying  that  the  old 
fellow  had  already  gone,  and  so  indeed  he  had. 

" '  Some  of  the  company  suggested  that  he  might 
have  been  a  fraud.  *  Just  look  around  and  see  if  he 
has  not  taken  a  few  things.'  I  then  bethought  me 
that  the  articles  he  showed  looked  like  some  of  my 
own.     I  rushed  into  the  parlor  to  find  that  the  old 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  113 

thief  had  taken  my  own  things.     The  alarm  was  given 
and  police  sent  for. 

" '  In  a  few  moments  two  officers  appeared  and  be- 
gan a  search.  One  of  the  servants  reported  that  be 
saw  the  old  man  going  up-stairs.  The  officers  rushed 
up,  and  after  a  look  through  the  rooms  on  the  two 
upper  stories  discovered  him  looking  over  some  photo- 
graphs. The  officers,  of  course,  seized  him.  He  re- 
sisted and  gave  it  to  them  pretty  roughly  with  bis 
tongue.  '  Bring  the  old  ruffian  down,'  I  cried,  *  bring 
him  into  the  dining-room.' 

"  *  Until  then  I  bad  not  thoroughly  scanned  the  aged 
villain's  countenance.  Imagine  my  amazement  when 
I  looked  into  that  eye  which  no  power  on  earth  could 
disguise  or  change,  to  find  that  the  man  I  bad  bold  of 
was  Sothern  himself.     It  was  a  dead  sell  on  us  all. 

"  *  Sothern  bad  prepared  himself  fully  for  this  joke 
as  he  always  does  on  important  occasions.  He 
brought  with  him  a  wig,  beard,  pair  of  slippers  and 
a  long  coat,  and  a  villainous  old  bat. 

" '  "While  we  were  pretty  well  along ' 

"  *  Yes,  I  see,'  said  Mr.  Adams,  '  you  were  pretty 
well  along.     Of  course  you  were.' 

"  *  I  mean,'  said  Billy,  *  that  we  were  well  along  in 
the  evening.' 

"  *  Yes,  certainly  you  were ;  if  you  were  not  you 
should  have  been,'  replied  Adams. 

"  *  Well,  as  I  was  about  to  say,  Sothern  slipped  out 


114  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

of  the  dining-room  and  in  a  few  moments  was  trans- 
formed into  an  ancient  Hibernian  on  ray  door  step. 
This  was  voted  by  the  whole  comijany  as  one  of  the 
most  successful  practical  jokes  ever  practiced,  and 
80  it  was,  by  a  "  large  majority."  ' 

"  *  The  time  approaches,' "  said  Adams,  looking  up 
at  the  great  clock. 

" '  Yes,'  answered  Florence  ;  *  now  111  tell  you  my 
plan  for  a  big  thing,  Ned. 

" '  We  will  take  a  carriage  and  go  to  the  depot, 
and  as  soon  as  the  train  arrives  we  will  scoop  the 
old  boy  up  and  drive  to  the  city  prison  and  slap 
him  in  jail.  I  have  arranged  to  commit  him,  let 
the  jailer  into  the  secret,  and  upon  my  holding  him 
harmless  he  will  pay  the  stem  keeper.' 

"  *  We  won't  keep  him  in  but  a  few  minutes  though,' 
responded  the  tender-hearted  Ned,  '  only  a  few 
minutes,  Billy  ? ' 

"  *  Leave  that  to  me,'  said  Florence.  '  You  know  I 
would  not  harm  a  hair  of  his  head.  Leave  it  all  to 
me.  Sothern  will  enjoy  it  when  it  is  over  as  much  as 
we  do  ;  he  is  one  of  the  kind  who  enjoys  a  good 
joke  on  himself  as  well  as  if  it  were  played  on  any- 
one else — more  so.' 

"  The  train  was  on  time,  and  as  soon  as  it  stopped, 
one  of  the  first  passengers  who  got  off  the  platform 
was  the   veritable    Sothern.       Billy  and    his  friend 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  iig 

■were  with  him  in  a  moment.      The    greetings  were 
heartfelt  and  sincere. 

"  '  Now,  my  old  boy,  come  along  ;  we  have  the  best 
of  rooms  for  you,  and  as  this  is  your  first  visit,  we 
will  see  (looking  askance  at  Ned)  that  you  are 
firmly  settled.' 

"  The  carriage  soon  had  them  in  front  of  the  city 
prison.  It  seemed  but  a  moment  since  they  left 
the  depot,  so  interested  had  Mr.  Sothern  been  in 
the  conversation  of  his  friends.  The  three  alighted 
and  the  two  conspirators  rushed  Mr.  Sothern  up  to 
the  jail  register.  Ned  put  the  pen  in  his  hand  while 
Billy  took  his  satchel,  and  after  the  name  was 
down  they  hurried  him  off  to  his  'room.'  A  turn- 
key led  the  way  down  the  corridor  and  Sothern 
was  ushered  into  a  side  apartment.  He  said  he 
thought  it  was  a  very  plain-looking  place,  and  was 
amazed  when  he  saw  bars  at  the  window,  but  ob- 
served this  must  be  their  way  out  here.  He  took  a 
seat  at  the  table  and  being  left  alone,  overheard  the 
following  conversation. 

"  '  We  have  him  at  last.  Jack.' 

"  *  Have  him  !     Who  do  you  mean  ?' 

"  '  Why,  that  awful  murderer  and  robber  of  Yellow 
Creek  Flats,'  replied  the  first  speaker.  *  We  are 
going  to  handcuff  him,  and  put  him  in  the  dun 
geon.' 

"  *■  Well,   he  ought  to  be  there  ;  he  is  the  worst 


ii6  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

criminal  in  California,  and  he  will  certainly  be  hnng 
in  a  short  time.' 

"Sothern  now  saw  through  it  all,  and  began  to  kick 
the  door,  and  ask  that  it  be  opened.  There  was  a 
slide  in  the  panel,  and  this  was  pushed  aside  by  one 
of  the  turnkeys,  who  gruffly  inquired,  '  Now,  what  do 
you  want,  you  infernal  robber  and  highwayman  ?' 

"*Well,  sir,'  said  Sothern,  'I  want  you  first  to 
open  this  door,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  what  I  want.' 

"  The  only  reply  to  this  was  :  '  We  are  coming  in 
directly,  to  put  a  pair  of  bracelets  on  you.' 

"  *  Now  see  here,  my  good  friend,  this  is  all  a  joke, 
and,  as  it  has  been  carried  far  enough,  you  had  better 
open  the  doors.' 

" '  That's  "  too  thin,"  '  said  the  turnkey,  " '  too  thin." 
Do  you  suppose  you  could  fool  us  with  that  kind  of 
chaff  ;  I  guess  not !' 

"  In  the  meantime,  Billy  and  Ned  had  gone  off  to 
spread  the  news  that  Mr.  Sothern  had  been  arrested 
and  sent  to  the  city  prison.  A  large  delegation 
of  friends  at  once  left  the  hotel,  and  proceeded 
to  the  jail.  Inquiring  for  the  jailer,  he  promptly  ap- 
peared, and  being  asked  for  the  commitment,  he  pro- 
duced a  paper  with  a  great  many  grand  flourishes, 
and  a  considerable  number  of  hieroglyphics  upon  it, 
and  said  :  '  This  is  what  was  handed  to  me.'  Upon 
a  close  examination,  it  was  found  to  be  signed  by 
Guillemano  Florenza  and  Edouard  Adam,  detectives. 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  117 

A  well-known  magistrate,  at  this  juncture,  stepped 
forward,  and  Mr.  Sothern  being  brought  before  hira, 
was  at  once  released  as  a  victim  of  kidnappers.  Dun- 
dreary admitted  that  he  had  been  handsomely  in- 
veigled and  sold  by  his  two  friends.  Billy  and  Ned 
had  meanwhile  ordered  the  finest  supper  at  the  hotel 
ever  known  on  the  Pacific  coast,  and  a  company  of 
forty  gentlemen  feat  down  to  enjoy,  with  the  guest  of 
the  evening,  an  occasion  which,  for  mirth  and  genuine 
jollity,  has  rarely  had  its  equal  in  that  or  any  other 
part  of  the  country. 

"  *  And  this,'  says  Florence,  *  was  the  way  I  got  even 
with  "the  boy."     He  won't  forget  it  soon,  either.'  " 

REmNISCENCES  OF  A  MANAGER. 

One  evening,  at  a  dinner-party,  Mr.  Sothern  being 
temporarily  called  away  from  his  guests,  Mr.  Stephen 
Fiske,  the  manager  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre  in 
New  York,  related  a  number  of  reminiscences  which, 
inasmuch  as  they  illustrate  the  character  of  the  actor, 
and  traits  of  which  he  himself  would  not  speak,  are 
worthy  of  reproduction  here.  Speaking  of  the  first 
appearance  of  Mr.  Sothern  as  Lord  Dundreary,  in 
London,  he  said  : 

"It  was  about  the  year  1851.  Mr.  Buckstone,  the 
manager  of  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  was  in  want  of 
an    attraction ;   and  taking  a  liking  to   *  the  young 


Ii8  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

American  actor,'  as  he  was  called,  agreed  to  produce 
*  Our  American  Cousin,'  although  he  did  so  with  not  a 
little  fear  and  trembling.  All  the  actors  and  act- 
resses connected  with  the  theatre  predicted  its  failure. 
Buckstone  himself  consented  to  play  the  part  of  Asa 
Trenchard,  to  help  the  performance  along,  but  nobody 
except   Sothern   had    any   confidence   in   its   success. 

During  the  rehearsal  of  the  play,  Mrs. ,  one  of 

the  old  Haymarket  stock  company,  and  a  representa- 
tive of  all  the  gossip  of  the  green-room,  came  upon 
the  stage  while  Sothern  was  running  over  his  famous 
letter  scene.  He  turned,  and  said,  *  My  dear  madam, 
don't  come  on  here  till  you  get  your  cue.  In  fact,  on 
the  night  of  the  performance,  you  will  have  twenty 
minutes  to  wait  during  this  scene.' 

"  '  Why,'  said  the  lady,  satirically,  *  do  you  expect 
so  much  applause  ?' 

"  *  Yes,'  replied  Sothern,  '  I  know  how  long  this 
scene  always  plays.' 

"*Ah!'  answered  the  madam,  *but  suppose  the 
audience  should  not  take  your  view  of  the  matter.' 

"  *  In  that  case,'  said  Sothern,  *  you  won't  have  to 
bother  yourself,  for  I  and  the  piece  will  have  been 
condemned  a  good  hour  before  your  services  will  be 
required.' 

"I  regard  this,"  said  Mr.  Fisko,  "as  one  of  the 
most  striking  instances  of  courageous  confidence  con- 
cerning a  new  play,  that  is  recorded  in  connection 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  119 

with  the  history  of  the  stage.  The  success  of  *  Our 
American  Cousin'  was  immediate  and  continuous. 
Everybody  understood  it,  everybody  enjoyed  it,  and  I 
Lord  Dundreary  was  elevated  to  the  peerage  of  Great 
Britain,  Ireland  and  Scotland,  by  unanimous  consent, 
and  he  is  now,  by  long  odds,  the  best  known  member 
of  the  English  aristocracy." 

"  How  was  it  regarded  by  the  people  whom  it  bur- 
lesqued ?" 

"  The  swells  of  London,  whom  it  was  supposed  would 
be  very  hostile  to  this  caricature  of  a  British  noble- 
man, were  the  first  to  appreciate  and  understand  it, 
and  adopt  its  mannerisms,  its  drawl,  its  dress,  and 
often  its  peculiar  skip.  To  this  day  you  cannot  make 
yourself  better  understood  in  London  than  when  you 
speak  of  Dundreary  whiskers  to  your  barber,  or  a 
Dundreary  coat  to  your  tailor.  The  most  popular 
actors  seldom  get  beyond  a  necktie  or  a  photograph, 
but  Dundreary  has  created  a  peer  and  a  style.  Sothern 
is  the  best  friend  that  the  tailors  ever  had.  Any  first 
class  tailor  in  New  York  or  London  would  furnish  him 
with  all  the  clothes  he  requires — and  he  uses  hundreds 
of  suits  in  a  year — if  he  would  only  accept  them.  In 
London,  as  in  New  York,  his  modern  costumes  on  and 
off  the  stage  are  regarded  as  models  by  the  most  fash- 
ionable people.  At  one  time  he  bought  a  frieze  coat 
from  a  pig  drover  in  Ireland,  because  he  thought  it 
was  picturesque  and  comfortable,  and  introduced  some- 


I20  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

thing  like  it  on  the  stage.  Thus  originated  the  ulster 
and  its  half  dozen  variations.  Every  man  who  wears 
an  ulster  to-day  is  therefore,  without  knowing  it,  a 
walking  advertisement  of  Mr.  Sothern's  example." 

SOTHERN    IN   HIS    DRESSING-ROOM. 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Fiske,  you  have  met  Mr.  Sothem, 
from  time  to  time,  in  his  dressing-room.  What  im- 
pression has  he  created  upon  you  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  spent  many  hours  with  him  under  the 
circumstances  to  which  you  refer,  and  have  always 
been  interested  not  only  in  his  conversation,  which  is 
more  serious  then  than  at  any  other  time,  but  in  the 
novel  and  artistic  means  whereby  his  wonderful  stage 
transformations  are  effected.  Nobody  could  look  more 
unlike  the  Sothem  of  real  life  than  *The  Crushed 
Tragedian.'  There  could  be  no  greater  contrast  to 
'  The  Crushed  Tragedian '  than  Brother  Sam,  and  no- 
body could  possibly  identify  his  David  Garrick  with 
his  Lord  Dundreary.  I  do  not  speak  so  much  of  dif- 
ference in  costume,  in  the  color  of  his  wigs,  or  the 
shades  of  his  paint,  as  of  the  curious  change  in  facial 
expression — in  what  the  Irish  call  '  the  look  of  his 
eye ;'  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  and  in  the  entire 
character  and  deportment  of  the  man.  In  Garrick, 
his  enunciation  is  as  clear  as  a  bell ;  in  Dundreary, 
he  lisps,  stammers  and  drawls  ;  in  the  Crushed  Tra- 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  123 

gedian,  he  growls,  and  as  Sydney  Spoonbill,  he  is  the 
simple-hearted,  out-spoken  gentlemen.  In  fact,  he 
seems  to  have  a  different  voice  for  each  part  which 
he  undertakes  to  represent.  The  old  joke  about  an 
Othello,  who  in  the  enthusiasm  of  art  painted  himself 
all  over,  happens  to  be  perfectly  true  of  Mr.  Sothern  in 
a  metaphysical  way.  Look  at  him  standing  in  front  of 
his  glass,  doing  what  is  technically  called  his  '  make- 
uj).'  As  he  advances  and  recedes  from  the  glass  to 
mark  the  effect  of  the  lines  which  he  is  painting  on 
his  face,  you  will  notice  that  little  by  little  he  falls 
into  the  peculiar  gait  and  mannerism  of  the  character 
he  is  about  to  assume,  and  he  does  this  unconsciously, 
as  if  he  were  putting  on  the  part  as  well  as  the  paint, 
until  as  he  stands  before  you  the  transformation  is 
as  complete  as  when  you  observe  him  on  the  stage. 
It  is  likewise  a  great  test  of  his  art  that  you  feel  a 
kind  of  shock  when,  after  this  transformation,  you 
see  him  sit  down  in  his  chair,  light  a  segar  and 
begin  to  talk  about  subjects  which  have  no  reference 
to  the  peculiar  character  in  which  he  is  attired.  You 
don't  know  whether  you  are  addressing  Sothern  or 
The  Crushed  Tragedian.  As  regards  the  materials 
of  his  dressing-room  they  are  as  simple  as  himself. 
Where  other  stars  lug  round  with  them  objects  of 
vertu  and  unnecessary  articles  with  which  to  adorn 
this  apartment,  Mr.  Sothern  carries  nothing  but  a 
trunk  or  two  and  his  dressing-case.     No  !    I  forget 


124  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

one  thing :  he  is  always  accompanied  by  *  Baby, ' 
his  little  Scotch  terrier.  He  also  takes  less  time  to 
'make  up'  his  character  than  any  actor  I  ever  have 
seen." 


A  TRIBUTE  FROM  A  MANAGER. 

"  I  believe,"  said  a  listener,  "  that  he  has  quite  a 
reputation  for  being  a  charitable  man." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Fiske,  "  and  all  the  charitable 
affairs  with  which  he  has  been  connected  are  said  by 
carpers  to  be  designed  as  advertisements.  Would  to 
heaven  other  people  would  advertise  themselves  in  the 
same  way,  for  there  would  be  less  poverty  and  suffer- 
ing in  the  world.  Most  persons  forget  that  in  charity 
work,  instead  of  advertising  the  actor,  it  is  always 
Mr.  Sothern  who  advertises  the  charity,  and  in  both 
countries,  to  ray  knowledge,  he  has  repeatedly  injured 
his  business  at  the  theatre  with  which  he  has  been 
connected,  in  order  to  do  some  good  deed  for  a  de- 
serving man  or  woman  in  the  profession.  He  has  no 
need  of  that  species  of  advertising  which  comes  from 
giving  large  sums  of  money  to  poor  institutions,  and 
devoting  his  time  and  labor  for  the  benefit  of  others. 
During  every  day  of  his  life  his  name  is  in  a  hundred 
newspapers,  gratuitously,  and  probably  in  dozens  of 
others  at  a  cost  of  from  fifteen  to  forty  cents  a  line, 
and  it  will  always  be  so,  through  his  artistic  connec- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  125 

tions,  even  though  he  should  have  to  foreswear  benev- 
olence forever.  If  I  could  see  some  great  tragedian, 
or  playwright,  some  great  author,  or  painter,  sculptor 
or  editor,  devoting  so  much  of  his  time,  work  and 
money,  to  the  poor  as  this  unpretentious  actor  does 
regularly  every  year,  I  should  have  more  patience 
with  the  cant  about  '  advertising.'  What  an  effect  it 
would  have  on  the  world  if  Wilkie  Collins  were  to  an- 
nounce that  he  was  going  to  write  a  book  for  the  relief 
of  the  widow  of  Tom  Robertson,  or  Gustave  Dore 
was  going  to  paint  a  picture,  to  be  exhibited  and  sold 
for  the  benefit  of  the  family  of  a  property-artist  who 
had  died  impecunious,  or  if  the  proprietor  of  any 
first-class  paper  in  America  were  to  agree  to  give  the 
entire  proceeds  of  one  day's  issue  of  his  paper  to  a 
literary  guild,  or  an  eleemosynary  institution.  Would 
anybody  accuse  either  of  these  gentlemen  of  being 
guilty  of  an  attempt  to  advertise  himself  ?  It  is  be- 
cause this  benevolence  is  so  exceptional  that  small- 
minded  people  cannot  possibly  believe  it  to  be  gen- 
uine. Knowing  Mr.  Sothem  as  well  as  I  do,  and 
believing  him  to  be  a  very  wealthy  man,  I  would 
rather  have  his  credit  on  the  bank  Up  Yonder  than 
all  the  money  he  has  invested  down  below. " 

THE    DOOIY    CORNETIST. 
"  Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Stephen  Fiske,  "  you  have  never 


126  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

heard  the  curious  incident  connected  with  the  love 
scene  in  '  Home.'  It  is  this  :  A  part  of  that  scene 
was  originally  played  at — not  on — a  piano,  the  real 
pianist  being  concealed  behind  a  screen,  while 
Sothern  and  a  young  lady  acted  their  parts  at  a 
dummy  in  the  presence  of  the  audience.  During  the 
long  run  of  the  play  in  London,  Sothern  by  constant 
rehearsals  managed  to  do  away  with  the  piano 
behind  the  screen,  and  the  young  lady  actually 
played  the  music  which  at  first  she  only  appeared  to 
perform.  Struck  with  the  effect  which  she  produced 
by  her  musical  inteq^olations  during  the  dialogue, 
he  himself  began  to  work  out  the  idea  of  a  solo  on 
the  cornet  which  should  be  likewise  interspersed 
with  remarks  of  an  amusing  character.  Tooting  on 
the  cornet,  however,  is  not  one  of  Sothern's  many 
accomplishments.  He  accordingly  hired  a  regular 
artist  on  the  instrument  and  established  such  inti- 
mate relations  with  him  that  the  sympathies  of  the 
two  soon  became  nearly  identical.  He  rehearsed  him 
scores  of  times  behind  the  scenes  at  the  Hayraarket 
until  the  player  became  absolutely  perfect,  and  then 
employed  a  man  whose  special  duty  it  was  to  allow 
no  person  to  speak  to  the  cornetist  during  the  per- 
formance under  pain  of  instant  dismissal.  The  con- 
sequence was  that  when  Sothern  raised  his  dummy 
cornet  to  his  lips  the  man  behind  the  screen  pre- 
pared for  action  ;  when  Sothern  appeared   to    play, 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  127 

the  artist  made  the  music  ;  when  Sothern  dropped 
the  instrument  in  order  to  carry  on  the  dialogue 
the  cornetist  ceased,  and  nobody  not  in  the  secret 
ever  would  have  discovered  that  two  persons  were 
engaged  in  representing  that  feature  of  the  per- 
formance. 

"  When  Sothern  sent  the  copy  to  Wallack's 
Theatre  in  this  city,  the  business  of  the  cornet  was 
marked  in  it,  but  not  the  method  by  which  he  had 
achieved  such  a  success  abroad,  and  the  result  was 
rather  ludicrous.  Sothern  always  had  been  very  care- 
ful to  instruct  the  cornetist  with  reference  to  the  cues  ; 
but  where  he  had  twenty  rehearsals  Wallack  had  only 
one  or  two  ;  where  Sothern  had  gone  to  much  trouble 
and  the  expense  of  hiring  a  man  to  specially  second 
his  efforts,  Wallack  had  to  depend  on  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  musician,  and  the  watchfulness  of 
the  stage  manager.  When  the  scene  occurred, 
Mr.  Wallack  raised  the  cornet  to  his  lips,  and  the 
stage  manager,  in  his  zealous,  eager  manner  whis- 
pered to  the  artist:  'Now  look  out  sharp!  Be 
ready  ! '  The  cornetist — he  was  a  German — at  this 
instant  dropped  his  instrument  and  with  an  in- 
terrogative look  upon  his  stolid  countenance  ex- 
claimed :  '  Vas  ist  das  ? '  Meanwhile  the  cue  had 
been  passed,  and  Wallack,  on  the  stage,  was  work- 
ing at  the  pistons,  producing,  of  course,  not  the 
slightest  sound.      A  second  afterwards  he  dropped 


128  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

his  dummy  cornet  in  despair,  not  dreaming  of  course 
what  had  taken  place  in  the  rear,  and  proceeded 
with  his  dialogue,  but  the  poor  Dutchman,  anxious 
to  earn  his  money  and  get  his  notes  in,  kept  right  on 
and  poured  forth  a  flood  of  melody  which  produced 
about  the  same  effect  on  the  audience  that  Mun- 
chausen's horn  with  its  frozen  notes  did  upon  the 
crew  when  they  drifted  from  the  arctic  ocean  to  the 
southern  seas.  Since  that  eventful  night  Wallack 
has  always  omitted  the  cornet  scene  when  he  under- 
takes Sothern's  part  of  Col.  John  White. 

SOTHERN  IN   LONDON. 

"  Sothern  in  London,"  continued  Mr.  Fiske,  "  was  a 
veritable  king  of  mirth,  holding  daily  and  nightly 
court  with  such  rare  spirits  as  J.  L,  Toole,  Henry  J. 
Byron,  Tom  Robertson,  Buckstone,  Johnstone  and  a 
score  of  other  gentlemen  who  are  well  known  in  theat- 
rical and  artistic  circles.  Every  morning  the  town 
was  startled  by  some  fresh  social  excitement,  and 
every  evening  the  clubs  rang  with  laughter  over  Soth- 
ern's latest  exploits.  His  practical  jokes  were  of  every 
description,  from  the  intricate  mechanical  pleasantries 
designed  by  his  friend,  Col.  Johnstone,  to  the  off-hand 
flippancy  of  getting  a  ragged  newsboy  for  half  a  crown 
to  turn  somersaults  and  plant  his  dirty  feet  in  the 
abdomen  of  a  reputable  banker.     What  may  be  called 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  129 

the  Johnstonian  era  of  Sothern's  London  experiences 
was  illustrated  by  his  expose  of  the  Davenport  broth- 
ers and  his  fitting  up  an  apartment  with  electrical  and 
mechanical  contrivances  for  the  purpose  of  producing 
extraordinary  effects  on  Johnstone's  guests.  You 
were  invited,  for  example,  to  dine  with  the  pair,  en- 
tered the  dining-room  with  other  gentlemen  in  true 
British  fashion  and  there  found  only  a  table,  with 
nothing  on  it  except  the  cloth,  knives  and  forks  and  a 

*  bill  of  lading.'  No  servants  were  in  the  room  and 
there  was  no  evidence  of  a  repast.  After  everybody 
had  been  sufficiently  surprised,  Mr.  Sothern  would 
blandly  inquire  '  what  sort  of  soup  will  you  have  ?' 
Every  guest  was  at  liberty  to  mention  his  preference, 
which  being  done,  the  door  was  soon  after  opened  and 
in  marched  the  servant  with  the  article  ordered.  The 
same  system  was  observed  all  through  the  different 
courses.  Every  kind  of  food  apparently  was  in  the 
kitchen  ready  cooked  that  could  be  gotten  up  by  mor- 
tal man,  and  everything  was  in  the  cellar  that  could 
be    drank,   from    Hungarian    Burgundy  to   Bourbon 

*  sti'aight.'    After  dinner  cigars  were  handed  around, 

and  upon  the  guest  expressing  a  wish  to  have  a  light, 

a  blue  flame  would  burst  out  from  the  centre  of  the 

table.     These  curious   effects   were   accomplished   by 

means  of  electrical  devices  operated  under  the  table 

by  Col.  Johnstone's  feet,  which  established  telegraphic 

communication  with  the  cook  down  stairs,  who  had 
6* 


13©  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

been  previously  supplied  with  every  variety  of  canned 
soups,  meats  and  vegetables  that  the  market  afforded, 
and  which  required  but  a  moment's  preparation  in 
order  to  supply  the  wants  of  the  respective  guests. 

A     SOCIABLE     SHOWER    BATH. 

"In  St.  James  street  Sothern  had  very  elegantly 
furnished  apartments  which  he  was  fond  of  lending 
to  such  of  his  friends  as  wished  to  spend  a  night  in 
town.  An  acute  observer,  however,  noticed  that  no 
friend  from  the  country  ever  occupied  those  rooms 
twice,  and  a  very  respectable  ghost  story  was  once 
worked  up  on  this  foundation.  The  secret  finally 
leaked  out  that  no  sooner  did  the  guest  stretch  himself 
on  Sothern's  luxurious  couch,  than  his  weight  on  the 
bed  started  a  small  edition  of  the  deluge,  and  hundreds 
of  tiny  streams  of  lavender  water  poured  down  from 
the  ceiling  on  the  unhappy  individual,  drenching  him 
to  the  skin.  It  may  comfort  some  of  these  victims, 
however,  to  know  that  Sothern  himself,  after  a  hunt- 
ing frolic,  once  occupied  these  apartments,  and  forget- 
ful of  his  own  preparations,  became  his  own  victim. 

"Advertisements,  apparently  emanating  from  the 
offices  of  respectable  city  firms  and  railway  companies' 
offices,  for  coal-heavers  and  navvies  to  apply  at  con- 
fectioners' and  bakers'  shops  ;  notices  for  undertakers 
to  gather  at  a  certain  house  at  a  certain  time,  or  at 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN,  131 

the  green-room  of  some  of  the  principal  theatres,  were 
also  incidents  of  this  era.  [Of  this  species  of  non- 
sense Mr.  Sothern  denies  any  knowledge. — Editor^ 

AN     OMNIBUS     ADVENTURE. 

"  Walking  down  Regent  street  with  me  one  day, 
he  said  :  *  You  go  ahead  a  couple  of  blocks,  Fiske, 
and  I'll  go  back,  but  we  will  both  take  the  Atlas 
omnibus.'  I  followed  his  instructions,  and  entering 
the  omnibus  found  Sothern  sitting  in  the  diagonally 
opposite  corner.  I  naturally  looked  at  him  with  some 
curiosity  to  know  why  he  had  sent  me  two  blocks 
ahead.  Perceiving  this,  he  assumed  a  very  fierce  and 
belligerent  expression,  and  exclaimed :  '  Are  you 
staring  at  me,  sir  ?'  The  omnibus  was  filled  with 
several  elderly  ladies,  two  quiet  gentlemen  who  looked 
like  clergymen,  and  a  farmer  from  the  country.  I 
took  the  cue  at  once,  and  replied  :  '  No  ;  if  I  wanted 
to  stare  at  anybody,  I  would  stare  at  a  better  looking 
man  than  yourself.'  At  this,  Sothern's  indignation 
apparently  became  uncontrollable,  and  it  requii'ed  all 
of  the  force  of  the  clergymen,  seconded  by  the  farmer, 
to  keep  him  in  his  seat,  and  prevent  him  from  throwing 
himself  upon  me.  Finally  he  insisted  upon  stopping 
the  *  bus,'  and  invited  me  to  step  outside,  and  either 
apologize  then  and  there  for  the  insult,  or  fight  him  on 
the  spot.     I  pretended  to  prefer  to  do  the  latter ;  but 


13?  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

said  I  would  remain  in  the  omnibus,  whereupon  Soth- 
ern  took  off  his  overcoat,  and  handetl  it  to  the  nearest 
old  maid  to  hold  for  him  while  he  chastised  me  for 
my  impertinence.  In  the  course  of  the  desultory  re- 
marks in  which  we  indulged  during  this  melee,  he 
chanced  to  observe  that  he  would  allow  nobody  except 
his  friend  John  Robinson,  of  Philadelphia,  to  speak  to 
him  in  that  way  and  live  ;  whereupon  I  immediately 
informed  him  that  my  name  was  Robinson,  surnamed 
John,  and  that  I  had  just  arrived  from  America,  but 
that  I  hadn't  the  pleasure  of  his  acquaintance,  nor  did 
I  particularly  desire  it.  In  an  instant  Sothern's  man- 
ner completely  changed,  and,  climbing  over  the  old 
maids,  the  clergymen,  and  the  farmer,  to  my  corner 
of  the  stage,  he  endeavored  to  embrace  me  like  a  long 
lost  friend.  He  avowed  that  he  never  had  been  more 
delighted  in  his  life ;  stopped  the  omnibus,  and  pro- 
posed that  we  should  get  out  together,  which  we 
thereupon  proceeded  to  do.  The  comedy  we  had  en- 
acted, and  the  astonishment  depicted  on  the  faces  of 
the  inmates  of  the  coach,  exceeded  anything  I  ever 
saw  on  the  stage,  and  afforded  food  for  laughter  for 
many  days. 

SOTHERN  AND  TOOLE. 

"One  night,  after  12   o'clock,  Toole  and  Sothern 
took  possession  of  the   porter's  room  at  Humman's 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  133 

Hotel  and  sent  the  porter  to  the  top  of  the  house  to 
find  Billy  Florence,  who  was  supposed  to  be  a  guest 
there.  Meanwhile  the  pair  undertook  to  attend  per- 
sonally to  the  wants  of  the  strangers  who  were 
stopping  at  the  hotel,  and  came  to  the  wicket  to  de- 
mand admittance.  It  must  be  understood  that  the 
wicket  was  only  large  enough  to  expose  a  single  face. 
The  first  to  present  himself  was  a  clergyman,  who  was 
very  gravely  informed  by  Toole  that  his  *  attentions  to 
the  chambermaid  had  been  discovered,  and  that  he 
would  find  his  trunk  in  the  morning  at  Covent 
Garden  Market  opposite  ;  that  this  was  a  respectable 
house  and  he  didn't  wish  anything  more  to  do  with 
such  a  man.'  While  the  clergyman  in  his  indignation 
was  absent  in  Bow  street  to  hunt  up  a  police  officer 
and  make  his  troubles  known,  the  proprietor  of  the 
hotel  appeared  and  was  promptly  notified  by  Sothern 
who  now  appeared  at  the  wicket,  that  they  had 
'already  missed  enough  spoons  during  his  visit  and 
that  his  valise  would  be  thrown  down  to  him  in  a  ^ew 
minutes,  from  the  top  story,  and  if  he  wished  to 
avoid  Newgate  he  had  better  reform  his  practices  or 
try  them  upon  some  other  hotel.'  This  joke  would 
have  had  rather  a  serious  termination  if  the  proprietor 
had  not  entered  by  a  side  door  and  discovered  Toolo 
and  Sothern  at  their  pranks,  from  the  rear;  but  as  soon 
as  he  found  out  who  they  were,  he  was  so  overjoyed 
at  the  presence  of  two  such  worthies  in  his  house  and 


134  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

the  oddity  of  the  jokes  they  had  played,  that  he 
ordered  one  of  the  best  of  hot  suppers,  sent  for  Billy 
Florence,  and  kept  things  going  in  a  lively  way  until 
morning." 

MANAGERIAL  COMPLBIENTS. 

"The  St.  Jaraes  and  Haymarket  Theatres  in  London 
are  about  as  far  apart  as  the  Park  and  Fifth  Avenue 
Theatres  in  New  York — say  three  blocks.  They  are 
rival  theatres.  Sothern  was  playing  at  one  and  I 
managing  the  other.  On  one  occassion  when  I  had  a 
crowded  house  and  was  as  busy  as  a  bee,  Sothern, 
wishing  to  send  me  a  note  at  the  St.  Jaraes,  enclosed 
it  in  a  packing  box  and  entrusted  it  to  the  porter  with 
instructions  to  dump  it  precisely  where  it  would  be  in 
the  way  and  obstruct  the  ingress  of  people.  I  replied 
with  a  dray  and  a  barrel,  whereupon,  on  the  principle 
that  the  end  justified  the  means,  he  retorted  with  a 
pair  of  horses  and  a  molasses  hogshead.  So  if  he 
could  succeed  in  blocking  up  the  front  of  my  theatre 
for  a  couple  of  hours  when  he  intended  to  invite  me 
to  dinner,  he  was  perfectly  satisfied  to  go  to  any  ex 
pense  or  indulge  in  any  nonsense.  On  the  other  hand 
if  I  was  able  to  stop  the  way  in  Kensington  Lane 
which  led  to  his  residence,  with  a  dray  or  other 
vehicle  that  permitted  no  other  guest  with  his 
carriage  to  pass  en  route  to  a  dinner  party,  I  was 
very  glad  in  that  manner  to  get  even  with  him. 


ABOUT    SOTHERN".  135 

CAUGHT  AT  LAST. 

"I  never  knew  Mr.  Sotbern  to  back  down  from  any 
joke  but  once.  We  noticed,  one  day,  while  walking 
through  Hyde  park,  an  official  notice  from  the  head  of 
the  English  park  commission  :  *  Stage  coaches,  omni- 
buses, and  funerals  are  prohibited  from  crossing  the 
park,'  &c.  We  also  noticed  that  the  procession  of  old 
dowagers,  driving  backwards  and  forwards  in  their 
ancient  coaches,  were  enough  like  funerals  to  violate 
the  order.  Now,  in  England  they  have  a  kind  of 
vehicle  which  is  called  a  mourning  brougham,  made 
like  a  mourning  coach,  covered  with  seedy  sable 
material,  and  got  up  expressly  for  people  who  can't 
afford  the  extravagance  of  a  mourning  coach.  No- 
body ever  saw  one  of  these  broughams,  unless  on  its 
way  to  one  of  the  London  cemeteries,  with  a  black 
horse  in  the  shafts,  and  an  unmistakeable  undertaker's 
man  with  his  long  hat-band  in  the  coachman's  place. 
It  struck  me  there  was  nothing  in  the  order  which 
would  prohibit  Sothern  and  myself  from  hiring  one  of 
these  broughams,  and  taking  our  afternoon  drive  reg- 
ularly in  the  procession  of  dowagers,  he  looking  from 
one  window  and  I  out  of  the  other,  and  enjoying  our 
cigars  and  ourselves  in  such  a  manner  that  the  most 
obtuse  policeman  himself  would  never  object  to. 
Sothern  fell  in  with  this  idea  at  once,  but  every  day 
for  more  than  a  week  when  I  drove  to  his  house  in  a 


1^6  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

different  mourning  brougham,  and  presented  myself 
for  inspection,  he  always  managed  to  find  some  excuse 
for  postponing  the  proposed  drive,  and  I  never  could 
persuade  him  to  undertake  this  funeral  expedition  in 
the  park.  After  a  few  visits  of  this  character,  it 
began  to- dawn  upon  me  that  Sothern  was  inclined  to 
have  his  own  joke  at  his  friend's  expense,  whereupon 
I  procured  a  small  wooden  coffin  about  the  size  of  a 
three  months  old  infant,  and  every  time  that  Sothern 
declined  to  accompany  me  to  the  park,  I  had  this 
coffin  placed  conspicuously  on  the  box  as  I  drove 
away  from  his  house.  The  number  of  surreptitious 
infants  buried  from  Kensington  Lane  during  that 
month  was  something  enormous,  and  Sothern  got  the 
credit  of  the  whole  of  them. 

"The  only  time  Sothern  ever  did  what  they  call 
*the  Sothern  cross'  on  me  was  in  revenge  for  a  joke  I 
perpetrated  on  him.  Immediately  after  the  perform- 
ance and  before  I  could  leave  the  theatre,  he  had 
carpenters  at  the  stage  and  front  doors  who  within 
five  minutes  from  the  time  the  audience  left,  screwed 
up  every  means  I  had  of  making  an  exit.  I  scarcely 
need  say  that  I  was  angry  and  discomposed,  and  we 
have  never  spoken  since — except  when  we  meet. 

A  SPIRITUAL  JOKE. 
"I  remember  a  curious  experiment  which  Sothern 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  137 

made  in  New  York  while  a  well  known  actress  was 
playing  at  the  Winter  Garden.  Sothern  was  engaged 
in  a  discussion  upon  spiritualism  with  a  gentleman  in 
the  corridor  or  lobby,  and  said  :  '  Now,  let  me  give  you 
an  instance  of  the  power  of  a  medium.  You  observe 
that  she  is  on  the  stage  and  of  course  she  can't  hear 
what  I  say  at  this  instant.  But  if  you  will  watch  her 
while  I  count  '  one,  two,  three,'  you  will  obsei've  that 
she  will  tremble,  turn  pale  and  lean  against  the  actor 
with  whom  she  is  playing,'  As  Sothern  did  so,  he 
pulled  out  his  handkerchief,  rubbed  it  against  the 
window  looking  into  the  audience,  and  precisely  what 
he  had  predicted  occurred.  It  was  so  naturally  done 
that  even  I  was  deceived  until  after  the  performance 
when  the  actress,  sending  for  me,  said  :  '  Mr.  Fiske, 
what  was  Mr.  Sothern's  object  in  asking  me,  as  a 
special  favor,  to  lean  against  H ,  when  he  rub- 
bed his  handkei'chief  against  the  glass?'  I  did  not 
myself  find  out  until  during  a  subsequent  conversation 
at  supper,  he  explained  the  joke.  It  illustrates  one  of 
his  methods.     He  had  told  her  what  to  do. 

AS    A    CONJUROR. 

"  Sothern's  reputation  in  London  as  a  conjuror,  second 
sightist  and  general  magician,  was  very  great.  Scores 
of  the  young  sprigs  of  the  aristocracy  were  in  the 
habit  of  visiting  his  house  to  enjoy  his  dinners,  smoke 


138  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

his  cigars  and  admire  his  horses.  I  have  sometimes 
assisted  him  in  his  after-dinner  frolics.  On  one  occa- 
sion, by  special  request,  he  communicated  his  power  to 
me.  I  was  sent  out  of  the  room,  and  while  absent  the 
gentlemen  selected  a  number,  wrote  it  down  on  a  piece 
of  paper,  and  concealed  it  under  a  silver  candlestick  in 
the  centre  of  the  table.  On  my  return  to  the  room, 
Sothern  made  a  few  mystei'ious  passes,  and  one  of  tlie 
gentlemen  was  asked  to  inquire  of  me  what  was  the 
concealed  number,  whereupon  I  promptly  replied, 
*  93,701,'  which,  to  the  astonishment  of  every  person 
present,  except  Sothern  and  myself,  was  correct.  I 
don't  mind  telling  you  that  this  was  the  number  pre- 
viously agreed  upon  between  us,  and  all  of  Mr.  Soth- 
ern's  art,  while  I  was  out  of  the  room,  had  been 
employed  in  persuading  the  young  fellows  to  select 
that  number  as  preferable  to  all  others,  from  the  fact 
that  I  would  never  be  able  to  guess  such  a  particular 
combination.  Sometimes  he  would  go  out  of  the  room 
and  I  would  help  select  the  number,  but  always  with 
the  invariable  result. 

UNDER     THE     TABLE. 

"A  curious  joke  that  illustrates  Sothern's  knowledge 
of  human  nature  occurred  at  a  dinner  party,  or  what 
we  Americans  would  call  '  a  stag  party,'  at  his  own 
house   in   England.      Eight  or  ten   gentlemen   were 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  139 

present.  In  the  midst  of  the  meal  Mr.  English, 
Sothern's  friend  and  agent,  was  announced.  *  Now, 
boys,'  said  Sothern,  '  all  of  you  get  under  the  table — 
every  man  of  you — and  don't  stir  until  I  give  the 
word.  This  is  the  best  joke  on  English  that  you  ever 
saw.'  Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  down  went  the 
guests  and  in  came  Mr.  English.  Sitting  by  the  side 
of  Mr.  Sothern  he  proceeded  to  discuss  the  business 
that  had  brought  him  to  the  house  apparently 
without  taking  any  notice  of  the  vacant  chairs  or  the 
lifter  on  the  table.  Mr.  Sothern  on  his  part  said 
nothing  about  his  other  guests  until  one  by  one  the 
gentlemen  under  the  table  wearied  with  their  forced 
retirement  and  uncomfortable  position,  and  unable  to 
see  where  the  joke  came  in,  crawled  up,  and  to  the 
astonishment  of  Mr.  Sothern's  last  guest,  resumed 
their  places.  As  each  one  appeared  Mr.  Sothern  gave 
him  a  sly  wink — one  of  those  famous  Dundreary 
winks  you  have  seen  on  the  stage — as  much  as  to  say 
'keep  quiet,  old  fellow,'  until  the  whole  party  were 
re-seated  and  the  dinner  proceeded  as  usual.  Down 
to  this  hour  not  one  of  those  gentlemen  has  ever 
succeeded  in  getting  Mr.  Sothern  to  explain  where 
the  joke  was  on  English,  but  perhaps  some  of  them 
may  see  it  when  they  read  this  narrative.  The  same 
magnetism  he  uses  on  the  stage  he  used  on  these 
fellows.     Though  not  one  of  them  knew  why  he  was 


140  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

going  under  the  table,  he  couldn't  refuse  the  request 
to  do  so. 


A    HUNTING    INCIDENT. 

When  in  England  fox  hunting  is  his  favorite  pastime, 
and  his  stock  is  one  of  no  inconsiderable  extent  and 
excellence.  Many  a  time  has  his  passion  for  following 
the  hounds  cost  him  a  great  deal  of  inconvenience  in 
the  way  of  getting  to  town  as  best  he  might  in  time 
for  the  theatre,  and  one  occasion  of  this  sort  is  per- 
petuated by  him  in  a  most  amusing — as  told  by  him — 
post  prandial  story.  Late  one  afternoon  he  and  a 
friend  of  his  who  had  been  clearing  hedges  like  good 
fellows  all  day  with  a  fair  field  and  no  fox,  turned 
their  horses'  heads  townward.  Plunging  through  the 
mist  that  had  settled  down  with  a  pouring  rain, 
Sothern  ran  plump  into  a  wagon  coming  in  the 
opposite  direction  ;  the  shaft  penetrated  his  favorite 
mare's  breast,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  poor  beast 
was  dead.  What  to  do,  the  comedian  and  his  friend 
could  not  imagine,  but  it  was  finally  settled  that  the 
latter  should  ride  back  to  where  Sothern's  groom  had 
stopped — a  roadside  inn — inform  him  of  the  mare's 
death,  and  get  him  to  come  out  with  some  trap  to 
convey  his  master  to  the  station  of  Hole-in-the-Wold, 
or  wherever  it  was  in  that  down  country  region. 

By  the  time  Sothern's  friend   reached  the  groom 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  141 

that  individual,  secure  in  the  belief  that  his  master 
was  by  that  time  on  a  train  bound  Londonward, 
was  gloriously  drunk.  All  efforts  to  make  him  under- 
stand what  had  occurred  were  futile  ;  all  he  could 
say  was  :  "  I-s-h  Jenny  dead  ?  Well,  I'm  dommed  ! " 
Finally,  he  grew  lachrymose  and  wept.  "  And  what 
did  Jenny  say  afore  she  died  ?  "  he  inquired,  patheti- 
cally. The  gentleman  thought  he  might  as  well 
humor  him;  so  he  said — "Well,  Jenny  said  'Tom 
always  told  me  how  this  would  end.' "  "  Did — hie — 
Jenny  say  that?"  cried  the  inebriated  groom. 
"  Boys,"  turning  to  his  boon  companions,  "  who  says 
a  beast  don't  know  what's  what  ?  Did  Jenny  say 
that?  I  alius  thought  ud  Jenny  was  a  rare  un. 
Jenny  knew — hie  !  "  Sothern  delineates  this  case  of 
the  most  infatuated  "  drunk  "  he  ever  knew  in  an  ex- 
ceedingly entertaining  manner.  When  his  friend 
came  back  from  where  the  creduluous  posset-drugged 
groom  was  holding  forth  in  a  way  that  would  have 
delighted  Mr.  Bergh,  Sothern  roared  with  laughter 
through  the  rain;  and  when  he  mounted  his  friend's 
horse  and  sped  on  his  way  to  the  station,  leaving 
perforce  his  faithful  Amigo  to  watch  over  the  mare's 
body,  still  he  chuckled  at  the  man's  tipsy  conceit. 
Despite  this  hunting  delay,  he  reached  the  theatre  a 
moment  before  the  patience  of  the  audience  had 
been  exhausted  by  too  much  orchestra. 


142  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

"  TWO  BOB  FOR  A  SUMMERSAULT." 

One  dull  day  in  London — a  rainy,  foggy  day,  such 
as  only  London  can  produce — a  well  known  actress 
then  playing  there  proposed  to  Sothern  that  they 
should  go  on  a  lark.  "  Agreed,"  said  he,  and  off  they 
started  in  a  hansom,  intent  on  finding  the  opportunity 
which  Sothern  assured  his  companion  he  would  procure 
before  they  returned  to  the  theatre.  Near  the  Ad  el  phi, 
Sothern  saw  a  stout,  well-dressed  gentleman,  with  a 
clean  white  vest  encasing  an  expansive  stomach,  enter 
a  candy  shop.  No  sooner  had  the  probable  pere  de 
famille  gone  for  his  sweets,  than  Sothern  called  one  of 
the  ragged  boys  gathered  at  the  crossing  and  said  to 
him:  "Look  here,  my  man,  I'll  give  you  a  shilling  if 
you  turn  a  hand-spring  so  as  to  throw  those  particu- 
larly dirty  feet  of  yours  against  the  white  vest  of  the 
gentleman  who  has  just  gone  in  to  get  some  sweets  in 
that  shop,  as  he  comes  out ;  and  I'll  give  you  two  shil- 
lings if  you  turn  a  second  one  so  as  to  catch  him  in  the 
back."     "All  right,  guv'nor,"  grinned   the   boy,  and 

Sothern  and  Mrs. watched  intently  from  their 

cab.  In  a  moment  or  so  the  stout  gentleman  emerged, 
one  arm  occupied  with  his  umbrella,  the  other  clasping 
a  huge  bundle  of  sweets,  and  suffused,  as  it  were,  with 
an  atmosphere  of  loving  kindness.  "  Now  I'll  give  the 
children  a  treat,"  he  seemed  to  say,  but  vain  hope  ! 
His  foot  had  scarcely  touched  the  pavement  before  the 


ABOUT   SO  TITER  N.  143 

dirty  bare  feet  of  the  relentless  gamin  not  only 
smirched  his  white  vest,  but  fairly  doubled  him  up  ; 
his  hands  flew  to  his  stomach,  his  bundle  and  umbrella 
flew  to  the  pavement ;  he  had  no  time  to  breathe  be- 
fore the  boy's  flying  feet  hit  him  in  the  back  and 
nearly  overturned  him  quite.  The  two  conspirators  in 
the  cab  roared  with  laughter,  but  suddenly  up  came  the 
small  boy,  closely  followed  by  the  maddened  citizen. 
"  Give  me  my  two  bob,  sir,"  shouted  the  boy.  "  Hush, 
you  young  ragamufiin,"  said  Sotheru.  "  He  promised  to 
give  me  two  bob  if  I  would  pitch  into  you,"  shouted 
the  boy.  "You  did,  sir,  you  did,  eh?"  cried  the 
citizen,  doubly  irate.  Sothern  flung  the  boy  his 
money,  and  shouted  to  the  driver,  "  Whip  up  your 
horses  !  go  it,  old  fellow,  and  you  shall  have  a 
sovereign  !"  They  rattled  on,  the  citizen  of  the  erst 
spotless  vest  cursing  their  memory.    Sothern  says  that 

Mrs. was  in  such  hysterics  that  she  slipped  off 

the  seat  and  reposed  on  the  floor  of  the  cab,  shaken 
with  mighty  mirth  until  she  was  lifted  out  at  the 
ttfeatre,  still  convulsed  with  merriment. 

A  BEFOGGED  CLERK. 

On  another  occasion  the  same  fun-loving  pair 
wandered  into  an  ironmonger's  shop  in  quest  of 
food  for  laughter,  Sothern  assuming  the  responsi- 
bility.    He  advanced  to  the  counter  and  said,  "  Have 


144  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

you  the  second  edition  of  Macaulay's  History  of 
England?"  The  shopkeeper  explained  that  he  kept 
an  ironmonger's  establishment.  "Well,  it  don't 
matter  whether  it  is  bound  in  calf  or  not,"  answered 
the  customer. 

"  But,  sir,  this  is  not  a  bookseller's." 

"  It  don't  matter  how  you  put  it  up,"  says  Sothern  ; 
"a  piece  of  brown  paper — the  sort  of  a  thing  you 
would  give  your  own  mother." 

"Sir!"  bawled  the  shopkeeper,  "we — don't — keep 
it !     No  books  ;  this  is  an  ironmonger's  shop." 

"  Yes,"  says  Sothern,  "  the  binding  differs,  but  I'm 
not  particular^^as  long  as  I  have  a  flyleaf, 

"  Sir  ! "  fairly  screamed  the  shopkeeper,  "  can't  you 
see  we  keep  no  books  ?  This  is  an  ironmonger's 
shop  ! " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Sothern,  seating  himself ;  "  I'll 
wait  for  it." 

Believing  that  his  customer  was  either  hopelessly 
deaf  or  equally  mad,  the  man  called  another  from  the 
other  end  of  the  store  and  explained  that  he  could  do 
nothing  with  the  gentleman. 

"  What  do  you  wish,  sir  ?"  shouted  the  second  man, 
advancing. 

"  I  should  like,"  says  Sothern,  quietly,  "  a  small 
plain  file,  about  so  long." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  the  man,  casting  upon  bewil- 
dered No.  1  a  glance  of  the  most  unmitigated  disgust. 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  145 

Before  the  article  could  be  procured,  Mrs. ,  who 

had  been  pretending  to  be  occupied  in  looking  at  saws 
and  such  trifles,  had  yielded  to  always  dominant 
risibilities,  so  that  she  became  quite  helpless,  and 
Sothern  incontinently  fled  with  his  purchase  as  soon 
as  he  could  obtain  it,  leaving  her  to  recover  at  her 
leisure.  When  they  met  at  the  theatre  she  accused 
him  of  having  abandoned  her  after  reducing  her  to 
an  utterly  inert  state  by  his  practical  joke,  but  he 
made  it  all  right  by  presenting  her,  not  with  Macau- 
lay's  History,  but  the  file. 

LORD  DUNDREARY  IN  HANDCUFFS. 

Mr.  Stephen  Fiske  relates  the  following  anecdote  . 

"Perhaps  one  of  the  densest  crowds  that  London 
ever  knew,  assembled  to  witness  the  entry  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  with  the  Princess  Alexandra,  some 
years  ago.  The  refined  beauty  and  grace  of  the  little 
Princess  had  been  loudly  proclaimed  throughout  the 
land,  and  curiosity  to  see  the  bride  of  the  future  King 
of  England  was  up  to  fever  heat.  The  line  of  route 
was  not  a  long  one,  some  of  the  streets  being  very 
narrow  ;  and  it  was  calculated  at  the  time  that  over 
three  millions  of  people,  from  various  points  of  the 
compass,  assisted  at  this  welcoming  spectacle. 

"  The  procession  having  to  promenade  Fleet  street, 
en  rotUe  to  Temple   Bar   (without  passing  through 


146  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

which  ancient  and  vexatious  portal  no  respectable  pro- 
cession would  be  complete),  the  editor  of  Punch  issued 
invitations  to  a  select  coterie  of  artistic  and  literary- 
friends  to  assemble  at  the  Punch  office,  at  ten  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  to  partake  of  lunch  and  see  the  show  from 
the  windows.  As  a  sample  of  the  stamp  of  men 
present,  there  were  Mark  Lemon,  Shirley  Brooks,  Tom 
Taylor,  John  Leech,  Tenniel,  the  entire  Punch  staff ; 
Millais  and  Frith,  the  eminent  painters  ;  Ruskin,  Lord 
Lytton,  Charles  Dickens,  Cruikshank,  Tennyson — in 
fact,  a  more  brilliant  assembly  of  men  of  genius,  per- 
haps, rarely  met  under  one  roof.  A  magnificent  enter- 
tainment was  served  ;  and  if  the  good  things  that 
were  said  on  that  bright  March  morning,  had  been 
carefully  noted  down,  they  would  have  filled  a  number 
of  the  famous  journal  within  whose  walls  the  company 
met. 

"Among  the  persons  expected  was  Sothem,  the 
coqiedian,  whose  Lord  Dundreary  was  at  that  moment 
making  people  laugh  their  heads  off  at  the  Haymarket 
Theatre.  The  procession  was  not  to  move  until 
twelve  o'clock,  and  Lord  Dundreary  did  not  leave 
home  until  about  half-past  ten.  All  was  plain  sailing 
as  far  as  Fleet  street  ;  and,  discharging  his  carriage  at 
the  corner  of  a  street  intersecting  this  thoroughfare, 
he  reached  Fleet  street,  and  by  dint  of  hard  squeez- 
ing and  pushing,  prevailing,  and  watching  every 
movement  of  the  gigantic  crowd,  he  at  last  got  oppo- 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  147 

site  the  Punch  office,  and  there  he  was  compelled  to 
halt.  To  cross  the  street  was  simply  impossible. 
Deeply  buried  in  the  dense  throng,  he  stood  for  quite 
an  hour  watching  his  friends  at  the  windows.  He 
could  even  hear,  now  and  again,  a  peal  of  laughter 
and  the  i"ing  of  their  merry  voices.  'By  the  Gods,' 
mused  the  comedian,  '  I'm  missing  an  enormous  treat ! 
I  must  get  across  this  street  by  hook  or  by  crook — 
but  how  ?' 

"  Happy  thought !  At  that  moment  he  saw  a  police- 
man.    He  worked  his  way  towards  him,  and  said — 

"'Bobby,  if  you'll  manage  to  take  me  across  the 
street  to  the  Punch  office  I'll  give  you  a  sovereign.' 

"  The  policeman  simply  smiled,  and  pointed  to  the 
impeneti-able  throng. 

" '  I  know  it  will  be  tough  work,  and  perhaps  I  may 
lose  my  coat  and  hat  in  the  struggle,'  pursued 
Sothern  ;  '  but  it's  most  important  that  I  should  be 
there  with  my  friends.' 

"  *  I've  no  doubt  of  it,  sir  ;  but  it's  impossible. 
Why,  you  might  as  well  ask  me  to  take  you  through 
the  walls  of  St.  Paul's  there.' 

"  'Nonsense,'  urged  Sothern,  with  irrepressible  per- 
sistence. 'You  are  a  tall,  strong  man — I'm  thin  and 
wiry  ;  if  you'll  open  the  way,  I'll  follow,  and  it's  to  be 
done  with  a  little  effort.  Look  here  {whisper),  get  me 
over,  and  I'll  give  you  a  five-pound  note  !' 

"  At  this  offer  the  policeman  shut  one  eye,  rubbed 


f48  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

his  ear,  puckered  his  lips,  elevated  his  nose,  stood  on 
tiptoe,  and  surveyed  the  scene  before  him. 

"  '  Brace  yourself  for  a  mighty  effort,'  said  Sothern, 
encouragingly. 

"  He  made  an  effort,  but  without  success.  The 
crowd  instantly  howled  with  one  voice,  *  Back,  back, 
Bobby,  back  !     Where  are  you  shovin'  to?' 

"  At  that  moment  Dickens  and  Brooks  came  to  the 
window,  each  with  a  glass  of  champagne  in  his  hand, 
looked    out,   surveyed    the   scene,    and   then   retired, 
radiant  with  some  observation  made  by  the  author  of 
'Pickwick.'      This   tableau  was    too    much  for  Lord 
Dundreary — to   miss    all   the   brilliant   talk    of    that 
morning — to  miss  being  presented  to  some  of  the  most 
gifted  men  on  earth  ! — he  would  make  one  last  effort. 
'Policeman,'  whispered   he,  'have  you  got  a  pair  of 
handcuffs  ?    I'll  strike  you.     Arrest  me.     Shout — "  A 
pickpocket — I've   got  him  !"      Drag  me   across — the 
crowd  will  take  up  the  cry  and  make  way — that's  the 
programme — here's   the   money   in   advance  !'       The 
policeman  was  a  huge,  strapping  member  of  the  force. 
It  was  the  work  of  an  instant.     Into  his  pocket  went 
the  note ;  out  came  the  handcuffs.     Sothern  made  a 
plunge  at  the  breast  of  the  man,  who  literally  hurled 
himself  at  the  crowd,  dragging  his  victim  after  him. 
Off   went    hats,  down    fell    half-a-dozen    people    not 
physically    gifted,    and    after    three    minutes'    hard 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  149 

fighting  with  the  most  savage  opposition,  the  twain 
landed  on  the  steps  of  the  Punch  office. 

"  To  say  that  there  was  a  yell  of  execration  at  the 
policeman  for  his  vigorous  coup  de  main  would  faintly 
describe  the  howl  that  went  up  from  the  crowd.  It 
reminded  one  of  that  volume  of  sound  heard  on  a 
Derby  Day,  when  the  favorite  shoots  past  the  win- 
ning-post. Punch  was  the  word  in  more  senses  than 
the  journal  implied.  There  were  punched  heads, 
punched  hats,  to  say  nothing  of  ribs  and  noses,  and 
Sothern  and  the  bold  blue  *  Bobby '  sought  rapid 
refuge  within  the  hospitable  portals  of  the  Fleet  street 
humorist. 

"  Happily,  at  that  moment  a  loud  voice  shouted, 
*The  prince  is  coming — ov-der!^  and  the  excitement 
lulled.  The  comedian  made  his  way  up  to  his  friends, 
related  the  incident,  and  quaffed  a  glass  of  cham- 
pagne, which  was  held  to  his  lips  by  Mark  Lemon. 
While  this  was  going  on,  Cruikshank,  always  ready 
for  a  joke,  wheedled  the  policeman  out  of  a  back  door 
into  a  side  street,  with  strict  instructions  not  to  return 
until  after  the  procession  had  passed  ;  and  Sothern 
saw  the  show,  made  some  charming  new  acquaint- 
ances, partook  of  his  lunch,  and  uttered  his  cry  of 
welcome  to  the  pretty  Princess — firmly  bound  in 
strong  iron  bracelets. 

"  Millais  chaffingly  suggested  a  grand  historical  pic- 
ture for  the  Academy — '  Lord  Dundreary  in  Fetters  at 


156  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

the  Great  Welcoming  of  the  Beautiful  Bride.'  Shirley 
Brooks  insisted  that  a  French  dramatist  -would  have 
got  a  Palais  Royal  farce  out  of  the  incident,  and 
Sothern  consoled  himself  with  the  reflection  tliat  ho 
was  the  only  person  of  the  millions  present  who  wit- 
nessed the  pageant  in  handcuffs. 


A  CRITICISM  ON  "THE  CRUSHED,"  BY  MR.  GEORGE 
W.  CHILDS,  OF  THE   "PHILADELPHIA  LED- 
GER," JAN.  21,  1878. 

"  When  a  new,  distinct  and  enjoyable  character  is 
created  by  author  and  actor  for  the  dramatic  stage,  it 
has  good  title  to  take  rank  among  other  works  of  art. 
It  is  in  many  respects  just  such  a  creation  as  an  ac- 
cepted masterpiece  of  sculpture,  or  a  finished  paint- 
ing, or  a  grand  piece  of  music,  to  which  the  cultivated 
mind  pays  homage  of  admiration  for  the  skill,  the 
study,  the  talent,  or  the  genius  displayed  in  the 
achievement.  Something  like  this  is  done  by  Mr. 
Sothern  in  the  study  and  representation  of  his  De 
Lacy  Fitz  Altamont,  the  '  Crushed  Tragedian,'  now 
on  the  stage  of  the  Walnut  Street  Theatre.  This 
new  character  stands  out  like  a  statue,  or  the  central 
figure  of  a  life-like  picture.  It  is  not  only  distinct 
from  all  others  of  the  characters  with  which  our 
dramas  are  peopled,  but  it  is  as  opposite  as  possible 
to  Dundreary,  that  other  creation  of  Mr.  Sothern  with 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  153 

which  his  fame  as  a  dramatic  artist  is  so  largely  iden- 
tified, and  there  is  not  the  faintest  flavor  of  Mr. 
Sothern's  own  individuality  in  it. 

"  The  characterization,  however,  belongs  to  the 
same  class  of  original  studies  worked  out  to  the  next 
thing  to  perfection  by  the  artist,  and  with  such  other 
works  as  Jefferson's  'Rip  Van  Winkle,'  Charles 
Kean's  'Louis  XI.,'  and  Charlotte  Cushman's  *Meg 
Merrilies.' 

"  It  is  not   our  purpose  to  describe   the    '  Crushed 

Tragedian.'      It  would  require  a  good  deal  of  study  to 

do  even  that  in  a  satisfactory  way.     The  play  must  be 

seen  and  heard  to  be  understood,  and  it  will  be  the 

better  enjoyed  by  those  who  go  to  see  it  if  they  have 

no   detailed   description.     It   may  be  said,   however, 

that,  notwithstanding    the  '  dejected  'havior   of  the 

visage '   of    the   Crushed    Tragedian,    and    his    inky 

habiliments,   very  seedy  and    baggy,   and   the   many 

set-backs  he  suffers  in  pursuing  the  pet  ambition  of 

his  life,  his  expression    of    his  professional  woes   is 

so  grotesque  and  ludicrous  that  the  audience  is  in  one 

continuous  strain  of  laughter  so  long  as  he  is  on  the 

stage.     Then  there  is  a  meaning  in  the  play  for  those 

who   prefer,  above  intellect  and  true   art,   the   poor 

tawdry  stuff  and  humbug  of  which  so  much  of  the 

modern  stage  is  made  up." 
7* 


154  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

A  ROW  AT  THE  GRAMERCY  PARK  HOTEL. 

Perhaps  the  most  famous  of  all  the  practical  jokes 
with  which  Mr.  Sothern  had  to  do  was  the  "  Texan 
banquet,"  given  to  a  gentleman  at  the  Gramercy 
Park  Hotel,  in  this  city,  during  the  month  of  Decem- 
ber, 1872.  It  made  a  great  stir  at  the  time,  and 
even  led  to  an  immense  deal  of  serio-comic  talk 
about  duels.  A  young,  good-natured  English  tourist 
had  been  made  to  believe,  since  his  arrival  here,  a 
great  many  things  which  had  absolutely  no  founda- 
tion in  fact.  Some  of  these  matters  were  thoroughly 
ridiculous.  In  brief,  he,  moving  in  the  upper  ranks 
of  dramatic  society,  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
some  of  the  most  dreadful  practical  jokers  in  New 
York,  so  that  very  speedily  he  must  have  had  the 
most  curious  medley  of  ideas  possible  to  a  traveler 
concerning  life  and  society  customs  here.  "  Among 
the  leading  practical  jokers  with  whom  he  came  in 
contact,  may  be  mentioned,"  said  the  chronicles  of  the 
time,  "  William  J.  Florence,  E.  A.  Sothern,  and  others 

of  lesser  prominence."     Well,  to  do  honor  to  Mr. , 

Sothern  gave  a  splendid  banquet  at  his  rooms,  in  the 
Gramercy  Park  Hotel.  It  was  on  a  Sunday  afternoon. 
Covers  were  laid   for  twelve,  Mr.  Sothern  presiding, 

and  the  guest  of  the  evening,  Mr. ,  sitting  at  the 

right,  Nelse  Seymour  at  the  foot  of  the  table,  and  Dan 
Bryant  at  the  left  of  the  guest.     The  guests  were  all  in 


ABOUT   SOTHERN.  155 

evening  dress.  The  dinner  was  a  sumptuous  one,  and 
well  served  ;  the  wines  were  of  rich  and  rare  vintages. 
Hardly  a  smile  rippled  over  the  face  of  anyone  pres- 
ent, although  indeed  some  remark  was  made  when 
Mr.  Gaylor  took  from  under  his  coat  a  paper  battle-ax 
— the  broad  blade  being  covered  with  tinfoil — such  as 
is  used  to  kill  tyrants  on  the  stage.  While  the  soup 
was  being  served,  Mr.  Neil  Bryant  drew  from  beneath 
the  back  collar  of  his  coat  a  dirk-knife,  the  blade  of 
which  was  over  a  foot  long,  which  he  solemnly  un- 
clasped and  placed  beside  his  plate.  Mr.  Chris  Con- 
nor took  a  six-shooter  from  his  coat-tail  pocket,  and 

laid  it  down  carelessly  on  the  table.     Mr. looked 

around  in  a  bewildered  way.  Nelse  Seymour  drew  a 
scythe  from  under  the  table  and  then  a  policeman's 
club,  and  laid  them  in  the  middle  of  the  board.  At 
this  Mr. began  to  move  very  uneasily,  and  whis- 
pered to  his  friend,  Mr.  Sothern  : 

"  Old  fellow,  what  does  this  mean  ?" 

"  Keep  quiet,"  replied  Sothern,  "  it  is  as  I  have 
feared.  These  gentlemen  have  been  drinking,  and 
they  have  quarrelled  about  a  friend  of  theirs,  a  Mr. 
Weymyss  Jobson,  quite  an  eminent  scholar,  and  a 
very  estimable  gentleman  ;  but  I  hope,  for  our  sakes, 
that  they  will  not  attempt  to  settle  their  quarrel  here. 
It  is  dreadful,  but  I  hope,  dear  boy,  that  they  will  go 
away  quietly  and  have  no  row.  It  is  a  fashion  they 
have  here  to  settle  their  disputes  at  a  table,  or  wher- 


156  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

ever  they  meet.  All  we  can  do  now  is  to  await 
events." 

"But  there  will  be  murder  here.  Can  we  not 
notify  the  police  of  their  intentions  ?" 

"Impossible,  my  dear  fellow,"  answered  Sothern, 
in  a  distressing  whisper.  "Were  you  even  to  be 
suspected  by  these  men  of  attempting  to  leave  the 
room  you  would  be  shot  like  a  dog,  and  no  satisfac- 
tion would  ever  be  given  your  relatives  in  a  court  of 

justice."    By    this    time  Mr.    was    thoroughly 

aroused,  and  in  no  mood  for  tasting  even  the  first 
course.  "  What  an  infernal  country !"  he  said,  in  a 
whisper.  For  a  few  moments  the  regular  banquet 
business  went  on,  when  suddenly  a  row  arose  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  table,  and  Mr.  Neil  Bryant,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet,  fiercely  exclaimed  :  "  Whoever  says 
that  the  '  History  of  the  French  Revolution '  written 
by  my  friend,  David  Weymyss  Jobson,  is  not  as  good 
a  book  in  every  respect  as  that  written  by  Tom 
Carlyle  on  the  same  subject,  is  a  liar,  a  thief, 
and  if  there  is  any  fool  present  who  desires  to 
take  it  up,  I  am  his  man  !"  All  the.  guests  rose 
suddenly,  and  every  one  grasped  his  weapon.  Chris 
Connor  roared,  as  he  seized  his  pistol :  "  You  are 
another,  Bryant,  and  by  my  halidome  I  will  prove  it 
on  your  treacherous  body."  Then  shots  were  fired,  and 
the  room  was  filled  with  smoke  and  uproar.  Several  of 
the  guests  clinched  and  struggled,  and  Nelse  Seymour^ 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  157 

while  struggling  across  the  table,  thrust  his  foot  into 
the  eight-quart  soup  tureen,  made  a  wild  plunge,  but 
was  knocked  down,  and  then  found  it  impossible   to 

release  his  foot  from  the  vessel.     Mr.  ran  to  the 

door,  but  the  conspirators  had  locked  it.  Billy  Flor- 
ence thrust  a  long   knife  into  Mr.  hands,  and 

cried  out :  "  defend  yourself  !  This  is  butchery — sheer 
butchery  !"     Sothern  kept  saying  continually  to  Mr. 

:  "  Keep  cool,  and  don't  get  shot  !     This  is  awful 

— a  thousand  pardons — I  am  a  stranger  in  the  coun- 
try, and  I  had  no  expectation  of  meeting  these  de- 
mons at  a  dinner  given  to  my  friend  !"  The  hotel, 
in  the  meantime,  had  been  alarmed,  and  the  guests 
and  waiters,  outside,  were  making  frantic  endeavors 
to  break  open  the  doors,  fearing  that  murder  would 
be  done.  It  is  almost  needless  to  say  that  the  whole 
row  was  a  practical  joke  upon  the  guest  of  the  even- 
ing, who  had  brought  it  on  himself  by  boasting  about 
the  swell  letters  of  introduction  he  had  brought  from 
London.  Sothern  told  him  his  letters  were  all  to 
the  wrong  class  of  people,  but  that  he  would  ask 
some  of  the  really  first  raters — Knickerbockers — to 
meet  him.  Shortly  afterwards  he  met  Florence  and 
begged  him  to  select  some  of  the  drollest  nigger 
minstrels.  Florence  did  so,  and  gave  them  instruc- 
tions what  to  do.  The  joke  was  finally  spoiled, 
however,  by  one  circumstance.  Seymour,  when 
knocked    down    by   some    minstrel    trick,    instantly 


158  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

rubbed  burnt  cork  over  his  left  eye,  and  rose  seem- 
ingly badly  damaged.     But   he   forgot   himself    and 

rubbed  the  cork  oflF,  and  Mr. ,  recovering  from 

his  fright,  and  seeing  through  the  affair,  decidedly 
turned  the  tables  by  taking  his  hat,  and  saying,  with 
an  exquisite  drawl :  "  Gentlemen,  I  am  extremely 
obliged  to  you  for  this  evening's  entertainment,  which 
has  had  both  tragedy  and  comedy  combined.  This 
has  really  been  the  best  negro  minstrel  performance  I 
have  ever  seen  in  America,  and  fully  equals  any  that  I 
have  seen  given  at  St.  James'  Hall  in  my  own  city  of 
London.  Good  evening,  gentlemen  !"  and  so  saying 
he  gracefully  bowed  himself  out  of  the  room. 

SOTHERN   IN   AN    ENGLISH   RAILWAY   CAR. 

Mr.  John  T.  Raymond  relates  the  following  inci- 
dent as  strictly  true: 

"Sothern  and  I  were  going  from  Glasgow  to 
Birmingham.  While  walking  on  the  platform  of  the 
railway  station  he  purchased  a  handful  of  cigars,  a 
portion  of  which  he  handed  to  me,  with  the  remark, 
*  Now,  John,  when  we  get  into  the  compartment, 
if  there's  anybody  present  but  ourselves,  let's  be 
strangers,  but  be  ready  for  any  fun  that  turns  up.' 
When  I  entered,  I  found  the  place  occupied  by  a 
couple  of  well-to-do  English  gentlemen — matter-of- 
fact,  solid-looking    men,    you    know — who  were   ap- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  159 

parently  friends  and  fellow-travelers.  As  soon  as  the 
train  started,  feeling  in  my  pocket,  I  produced  a 
cigar  and  turning  to  the  gentlemen,  asked  : 

" '  Do  you  object  to  smoking  ?'  They  replied  in  the 
negative.  I  then  turned  to  Sothern  who  was  sitting 
on  the  other  side,  and  with  a  polite  bow,  inquired: 

"  *  Do  yon,  object  to  smoke,  sir  ? ' 

" '  I  do,'  he  replied,  with  an  air  of  offended  dignity, 
'  I  do  most  assuredly.  It's  a  piece  of  impertinence  to 
ask  such  a  question.' " 

" '  I  beg  your  pardon,'  I  said,  '  I  am  only  an  Ameri- 
can gentleman,  and  quite  unused  to  the  customs  of 
your  country.'" 

'"That's  easy  enough  to  see,  sir;  you're  either  an 
American  or  a  fool,  sir.  We  don't  do  things  like 
that  in  England.' 

"  I  sank  back  in  my  corner  as  if  half  frightened  to 
death,  while  Ned  indulged  in  a  series  of  indignant 
mutterings  well  calculated  to  show  that  he  was 
suffering  from  a  severe  attack  of  choler.  At  this  the 
two  Englishmen  grew  angry  at  his  manner,  and  ex- 
pressed themselves  to  each  other  accordingly.  After 
the  thing  had  run  along  for  a  few  minutes,  Sothern 
quietly  took  from  his  pocket  a  cigar,  lighted  it,  and 
proceeded  to  smoke  in  the  most  nonchalant  way, 
and  as  oblivious  to  his  surroundings  as  if  there  were 
not  another  person  within  a  thousand  miles.  The 
Englishmen    looked    at    each    other,    then    at    me. 


i6o  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

then  at  him,  and  the  more  they  looked,  the  more 
indignant  they  seemed  to  become.  They  saw  that  I 
was  a  small  and  inoffensive  man,  too  small  to  fight 
this  fellow — and  with  the  natural  desire  to  see  fair 
play,  which  belongs  to  all  true  Britishers,  they  finally 
opened  on  Sothern.  They  talked  at  him,  and  around 
him,  and  finally  to  him,  directly.  They  tried  to  make 
him  put  the  cigar  out ;  explain  himself  ;  apologize  ; 
swore  they  would  call  the  guard,  and  threatened  all 
kinds  of  things,"  but  there  sat  Ned  imperturbable  and 
silent  as  a  sphynx  coolly  puffing  away  at  his  havana, 
and  filling  the  compartment  with  smoke.  In  the 
midst  of  this  wordy  warfare,  the  train  arrived  at  a 
station.  Ned  bestowed  a  well-assumed  contemptuous 
look  on  the  two  Englishmen,  and  taking  me  by  the 
arm,  said: 

"  *  Come,  John,  let's  get  out  and  take  a  stretch  on 
the  platform.  We'll  leave  these  brutes  to  them- 
selves for  a  while.' 

"  You  should  have  seen  the  rage  vn-itten  on  their 
faces.  They  seized  their  shawls  and  packages  and 
followed  us  as  if  they  intended  some  sort  of  summary 
punishment,  no  matter  what  came  of  it ;  but  mean- 
while Sothern  had  quietly  *  tipped '  the  guard,  secured 
another  apartment,  and  as  the  train  moved  off,  the 
two  gentlemen  were  left  standing  on  the  platform 
evidently  feeling  cheaply  sold  at  my  parting  remarks 
to  that  effect  from  the  car  window." 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  i6i 

A  BREAKFAST  PARTY  WITH  TOOLE. 

On  the  special  train  that  whirled  the  participants  in 
Edwin  Adams'  benefit  from  New  York  to  Philadelphia 
in  ninety-nine  and  a  half  minutes,  Mr.  Sothern  related 
to  Miss  Lotta,  her  mother,  Mrs.  Crabtree,  and  a  little 
group,  the  following  anecdote  : 

He  said  that,  "  On  one  occasion,  Mr.  Toole  and  my- 
self were  breakfasting  with  a  party  of  friends  at  an 
inn  at  Greenwich,  No  sooner  had  the  waiter  left  the 
room  for  an  instant  than  I  proposed  that  we  should 
remove  the  plate  from  the  cloth,  and  get  under  the 
table.  This  we  did  without  loss  of  time,  taking  every 
article  of  silver-ware  from  the  table,  down  to  the 
spoons,  and  throwing  open  the  window.  After  a 
while  the  door  opened  and  the  waiter  reappeared. 

" '  Hallo  !'  he  cried,  seeing  the  company  gone,  also 
the  silver,  and  the  window  wide  open,  '  here's  a  rum 
go  !  I'm  blessed  if  they  arn't  run  away  with  the  silver ! 
Here,  Dick  (to  a  waiter  who  was  passing),  the  gentle- 
men 'as  run  away  with  the  silver  !  Help  me  find  the 
guv'nor !'  With  that  he  made  a  hasty  exit,  where- 
upon the  party  resumed  their  places,  after  shutting 
down  the  window  and  replacing  the  dishes,  the  knives, 
the  forks  and  the  spoons.  When  the  '  guv'nor '  ap- 
peared, breathless  and  cursing,  not  loud,  but  deep,  he 
found  a  party  of  gentlemen  in  the  full  possession  of 
his   silver-ware,  quietly  discussing   the   fish,   for  the 


i6f  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

preparation  of  which  his  hostelry  was  noted.  His 
ejaculation  of  rage  changed  to  astonishment  and 
relief. 

" '  Eh,  what,'  said  he,  '  everything  secure.  Why, 
James,  you  blarsted  rascal,  what  do  you  mean  ?' 

"  '  So  help  me,  guv'nor '  protested  the  mystified 

garcon. 

" '  You're  drunk,  you  idiot,'  said  the  incredulous 
master. 

" '  Gentlemen,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  will  withdraw,* 
and  we  veiled  our  mirth  with  the  napkins,  and  a  smile 
of  forgiveness  stole  over  each  innocent  face. 


A  BREAKFAST  AT  THE   CONTINENTAL   HOTEL, 
PHILADELPHIA.. 

"  One  morning  at  breakfast  in  the  public  room  in 
the  Continental  Hotel,  Philadelphia,  I  observed," 
said  Mr.  Sothern,  "  an  old  gentleman,  who  was  obvi- 
ously very  much  annoyed  at  the  delay  of  the  waiter  in 
bringing  his  breakfast.  He  was  continually  looking  at 
his  watch  and  apparently  muttering  oaths  of  abdom- 
inal origin.  For  some  time  I  paid  little  attention  to 
the  party,  but  at  last  becoming  interested,  I  asked  the 
head  waiter  who  he  was.  He  told  me  it  was  Gen'I  So- 
and-So,  an  irascible  old  bachelor — one  of  the  regular 
boarders  in  the  house.  While  waiting  for  my  own 
breakfast,  I  had  emptied  my  pockets  of  the  letters 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  163 

which  I  had  to  acknowledge  that  morning,  and  among 
them  found  what  we  call  a  *  property  letter,'  that  had 
accidentally  found  its  way  among  my  own  papers.  A 
property  letter,  you  know,  means  a  letter  used  on  the 
stage,  and  this  one  read  as  follows  : 

" '  Young  man,  I  know  thy  secret.  If  thou  hast 
wit,  courage  and  discretion,  I  can  secure  the  realiza- 
tion of  thy  most  sanguine  hopes. 

(Signed)  " '  Beauseant.' 

"  It  is  the  letter  which  Claude  Melnotte  reads  in  the 
Lady  of  Lyons.  It  struck  me  on  the  instant  that  I 
would  enclose  it  in  an  envelope,  send  it  to  the  old 
gentleman,  and  watch  the  effect  ;  so,  calling  one  of- 
the  waiters — a  colored  man — I  told  him  to  go  outside 
in  the  hall,  remain  for  five  minutes  and  then  return 
and  deliver  the  letter,  saying  that  the  writer  would 
call  for  a  reply  during  the  day.  I  also  instructed  the 
waiter  after  giving  this  message  to  retire  quickly  and 
not  be  seen  again  in  the  hotel  until  the  next  day,  and 
that  I  would  make  it  all  right  with  his  chief. 

"Agreeably  to  my  instructions,  in  a  few  minutes 
the  servant  walked  up  to  the  General  and  put  the  let- 
ter in  his  hands.  The  old  gentleman  adjusted  his  spec- 
tacles, tore  open  the  envelope,  and  in  an  amazed  tone 
commenced  to  read  half  aloud  :  '  Young  man,  I  know 
thy  secret,'  and  so  on.  He  read  it  over  two  or  three 
times  and  I  never  saw  anybody  more  bewildered.  At 
last  he  called  for  the  head  waiter   and  demanded  to 


i64  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

see  the  servant  who  had  delivered  the  letter ;  of  course 
he  was  not  to  be  found.  The  longer  he  pondered  the 
more  he  looked  as  if  he  wanted  to  rave.  In  the 
meantime,  in  came  his  breakfast. 

"  '  D n    the    breakfast  !'    he   exclaimed,   almost 

kicking  over  the  table.  *  I  want  to  see  the  lunatic 
who  calls  me  "a  young  man,"  and  says  he  "knows  my 
secret,  and  can  secure  the  realization  of  my  fondest 
hopes."  I  haven't  got  any  secret,  and  my  fondest 
hope  is  to  kick  the  idiot  who  sent  me  this  insane 
note.' 

"During  this  time,  two  or  three  ladies  had  joined 
me  at  the  breakfast  table,  and  noticing  the  extraordi- 
nary excitement  of  the  General,  asked  me  if  I  knew 
who  he  was.  I  told  them  to  keep  very  quiet,  and  not 
to  attract  his  attention  ;  that  he  was  a  fratricide,  and 
an  escaped  lunatic,  whose  keepers  were  outside  behind 
the  doors  waiting  for  him,  and  that  the  letter  was 
only  a  decoy  to  enable  them  to  secure  him  without 
unnecessary  violence.  This  thoroughly  alarmed  the 
ladies,  and  they  hurriedly  left  the  table,  retreating 
through  the  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"At  this  movement  the  second  head  waiter,  who 
had  noticed  the  agitation  of  the  ladies,  walked  up  to 
me,  and  asked  if  they  were  not  jatisfied  with  their 
breakfast. 

"  *  Oh,  yes,'  I  replied,  '  I  presume  so  ;  but  the  young- 
est lady  is  a  dangerous  maniac  at  times,  and  the  in- 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  165 

stant  she  saw  her  father,  Gen'l  So-and-So,  disturbed  in 
his  mind  by  the  letter  she  had  written,  I  whispered  to 
her  friend  to  take  her  out  of  the  room.'  ' 

"In  a  few  moments,  having  finished  my  breakfast,  x 
took  my  own  departure.  On  reaching  the  office  of  the 
hotel,  I  inquired  of  one  of  the  principal  clerks  whether 
his  head  waiter  was  quite  sound  in  his  mind.  He 
asked  me  my  reason  for  making  the  inquiry.  I  said 
that  I  didn't  want  to  get  my  name  mixed  up  in  the 
matter,  but  it  struck  me  that  the  one  weak  point  of 
his  intellect  was  his  apparently  intense  dislike  to  the 
General,  and  I  observed  to  the  clerk,  '  Just  test  it  by 
going  up  to  him  suddenly,  and  saying,  "Don't  you 
think  you  will  get  yourself  into  trouble  about  that 
letter  of  the  General's  ?" ' 

"After  breakfast  Mr.  ,  the  clerk,  walked  up 

to  the  head  waiter  and  abruptly  made  that  remark. 
Of  course  the  waiter  got  very  much  confused  and 
stammered  as  a  man  naturally  would  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, in  endeavoring  to  make  an  explanation, 
whereupon  I,  who  was  behind  him,  intimated  by  signs 
to  the  clerk  that  he  had  better  get  out  of  the  way  as 
the  fellow  had  a  knife  about  him  and  might  become 
very  violent. 

"  In  the  meantime  I  saw  the  General  approach  the 
office  to  make  inquiries,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  there 
was  a  tremendous  hum  of  conversation.  Half  a  dozen 
men  were  talking  loudly  and  excitedly  together  among 


1 66  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

whom  were  the  clerk  and  the  two  principal  waiters 
of  the  hotel.  I  hastily  paid  my  bill,  seized  ray 
travelling  satchel,  jumped  into  a  coach  at  the  door, 
and  was  driven  away.  I  never  learned  what  was  the 
result,  because  I  never  dared  to  inquire  ;  but  for  an 
hour  or  two  it  was  a  pretty  lively  edition  of  the 
'Hornet's  Nest  in  one  buzz  and  a  stinger.' 


HOW  TO  MAKE  AN  ACQUAINTANCE. 

"  It  is  curious  what  a  little  thing  will  lead  up  to  a 
lively  joke.  A  friend  of  mine  once  observed  to  me, 
*  Ned,  there's  a  lovely  girl  with  whom  I  desire  to  be- 
come acquainted,  but  I  don't  know  how  to  get  intro- 
duced to  her.  What  would  you  do  under  the  circum- 
stances ?' 

"  I  thought  a  moment,  and  asked  in  a  confidential 
sort  of  a  way,  '  What's  her  address  ?' 

"  '  So  and  so,'  he  replied,  giving  it  to  me. 

"'Is  she  prudish ?'  I  inquired. 

"  '  How  on  earth  can  I  tell  ?' 

"  That  night  I  sat  down  and  wrote  :  '  Mr.  Sothern's 

compliments  to  Miss ,  and  in  answer  to  her  letter 

states  that  he  would  be  most  happy  to  lend  any  other 
horse  but  his  mare  Kate,  who  is  rather  vicious  and 
might  involve  some  danger  to  her  person.' 

"  In  reply  I  received  a  note  stating  that  she  had 
never  written  to  Mr.  Sothern  about  a  horse  or  any- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  167 

thing  else.  I  at  once  wrote  back  begging  leave  to 
enclose  a  letter  which  I  had  got  a  lady  friend  of  mine 
to  copy.  She  wrote  back  immediately  that  the  letter 
was  a  forgery,  whereupon  I  rejoined  :  *  Mr.  Sothern 
presents  his  compliments,  begs  leave  to  say  that  he  has 
been  the  victim  of  a  practical  joke,  and  in  order  to 
redeem  himself  from  any  suspicion  of  intentional 
offense,  has  put  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  Sergeant 
Smith  of  Scotland  Yard.' 

"  In  a  few  hours  back  came  another  message  from 
her,  praying  that  I  would  do  no  such  thing,  inasmuch 
as  it  would  seriously  compromise  her  by  giving  unnec- 
essary publicity  to  a  very  simple  thing,  and  adding, 
*  Let  me  see  you.'  I  then  wrote  that  I  never  made 
any  calls  until  after  theatre  hours  ;  that  the  investiga- 
tion must  be  pressed,  and  I  preferred  her  to  see  Ser- 
geant Smith,  She  wrote  again,  earnestly  requesting 
me  to  keep  it  out  of  the  hands  of  the  police,  under  any 
and  all  circumstances.  Would  I  not  grant  her  an  in- 
terview? she  would  call  at  any  time.  I  answered 
her  last  note,  saying  that  I  appreciated  the  situ- 
ation in  which  she  was  placed,  and  would  be  very 
glad  to  see  her  in  my  parlors  at  half-past  five 
of  the  ensuing  day.  She  came  ;  I  stood  on  my 
dignity  for  a  while,  and  then  explanations  followed, 
more  theoretical  than  truthful  on  my  part,  but  I 
reluctantly  agreed  not  to  put  the  matter  into  the 
hands  of  Sergeant  Smith.     The  up-shot  was,  that  the 


1 68  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

next  day  both  of  us  were  driving  out  behind  that 
same  vicious  mare,  Kate.  My  friend  happened  to 
see  us  at  Richmond,  and  when  he  soon  afterwards 
met  me,  he  exclaimed,  with  a  look  of  astonishment 
on  his  face  : 

"  *  How's  this,  Sothern  ?  didn't  I  see  you  driving 
that  lady  in  the  park  ?  I  didn't  know  that  you  knew 
her.' 

"'Why,'  I  replied,  *of  course  you  didn't;  but  don't 
you  see  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  know  her  first, 
or  how  the  mischief  could  I  introduce  you  ?  That's 
the  reason  I  made  her  acquaintance — and  she's  as 
witty  as  she  is  beautiful.' 

" '  Well,'  he  replied,  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way;  '  if 
this  isn't  the  most  brazen  piece  of  impudence  I  ever 
heard  of.'  After  keeping  him  on  tenter  hooks  for  a 
while  I  explained  the  whole  matter  to  him,  and  the 
three  of  us  subsequently  met  over  a  jolly  spread  in 
my  rooms  when  the  desired  introduction  was  at  last 
effected.  I'm  not  sure  that  he  has  not  since  married 
the  lady  and  gone  into  the  nursery  business." 

BEGGING   LETTERS. 

One  of  the  gentlemen  present  asked  the  question 
of  Mr.  Sothern,  whether  in  the  course  of  his  profes- 
sional experience  he  was  not  largely  afflicted  by  beg- 
ging letters. 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  169 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  from  the  way  they  pour  in  upon 
rae  one  would  imagine  I  was  a  second  George  Pea- 
body,  a  John  Jacol)  Astor,  or  Baron  Rothschild.  They 
refer  to  every  possible  subject,  give  every  possible 
reason  why  I  should  exhaust  my  exchequer,  and  nine 
out  of  ten  are  written  by  professional  medicants. 
Now  and  then  when  I  imagine  that  one  of  these  let- 
ters bears  the  stamp  of  sincerity,  I  have  my  valBt 
investigate  the  circumstances,  and  endeavor  to  do 
what  I  can  for  the  unhappy  party  ;  but  in  the  main 
these  people  are  a  class  of  impostors.  Still  I  have 
been  deceived  on  several  occasions.  One  of  these  I 
recall  at  this  moment.  Some  years  ago  I  was  with 
my  family  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  my  house  at  Ken- 
sington, when  a  gentlemanly-looking  person  came  up 
and  said  :  '  Excuse  me,  sir,  for  addressing  you,  but  in 
changing  my  clothes  at  the  hotel  I  forgot  my  purse. 
It  was  very  stupid  of  me,  of  course,  but  as  I  was  pass- 
ing I  saw  you  on  the  lawn,  and  recognizing  you, 
determined  to  take  the  risk  of  being  placed  in  a  false 
position  by  making  known  the  circumstance.'  He 
further  remarked,  'I  am  an  Edinburgh  man  and 
know  quite  a  number  of  your  friends,  though  we  have 
personally  not  been  formally  introduced.  Unfortu- 
nately, too,'  he  observed,  '  I  am  suffering  a  good  deal 
from  rheumatism,  and  have  about  three  miles  to 
walk.  It  struck  me  that  under  the  circumstances  you 
would  not  object  to  lending  me  a  half  crown  until  I 


170  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

reach  the  end  of  my  destination,  when  I  will  send  the 
amount  back  by  messenger.' 

"  I  loaned  the  fellow  the  half  crown  and  asked  him 
to  join  our  party,  take  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  cigar. 
In  the  most  gentlemanly  manner,. however,  he  refused, 
said  he  must  be  moving  on,  shook  hands  with  me, 
took  off  his  hat  to  the  ladies,  and  gracefully  bowed 
himself  out  of  the  company. 

"  The  truth  is  he  didn't  know  a  solitary  individual 
among  the  parties  whose  names  he  had  mentioned  as 
mutual  friends,  and  I  never  heard  of  him  again." 


80THERN  AS  REMEMBERED  BY  ONE  OP  HIS   OLD 
FRIENDS. 

Mrs.  J.  R.  Vincent,  a  veteran  actress  on  the  Boston 
stage,  has  furnished  the  editor  with  many  pleasant 
recollections  concerning  the  early  career  of  Mr.  Soth- 
ern  in  America,  and  although  her  comments  are  occa- 
sionally somewhat  flattering,  they  will  doubtless  be 
found  to  be  interesting.     She  says  : 

"I  appeared  in  1852  at  the  old  National  Theatre, 
Boston,  on  the  night  previous  to  its  destruction  by 
fire,  as  Lady  Sneerwell  in  the  *  School  for  Scandal.' 
After  the  burning,  we  finished  the  week  with  Messrs. 
Sinclair  and  Vandenhoff,  at  the  Federal  Street  The- 
atre, and  from  there  went  to  the  Boston  Museum, 
where  I  have  since  remained.      About  this  time,  a  Mr. 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  171 

Lacy  sent  out  from  England  a  young  man,  who 
brought  letters  of  introduction  from  Charles  Kean, 
Lord  Lytton  Bulwer,  Sergeant  Talford,  and  other 
people  who  had  seen  him  play,  and  who  wrote  of 
him  in  language  of  extreme  praise.  His  name  was 
Douglas  Stuart.  He  was  tall,  willowy  and  lithe, 
with  a  clear,  red  and  white,  English  complexion  ; 
bright  blue  eyes  ;  wavy,  brown  hair ;  graceful  in  his 
carriage,  and  well  calculated  physically  to  conciliate 
the  heart  of  any  susceptible  woman.  He  lived  at  the 
same  house  with  me,  and  I  soon  found  that  he  had  all 
the  simplicity  and  buoyancy  of  a  child.  He  was  not 
rich — anything  but  that  —  but  invariably  charitable 
and  generous  to  the  extent  of  prodigality. 

"  He  entered  at  once  upon  his  professional  duties,  at 
the  new  National  Theatre,  under  the  management  of 
Mr.  Leonard,  a  celebrated  auctioneer  of  Boston,  and 
appeared  as  Dr.  Pangloss.  His  opening  night  was 
not  a  success.  You  can  fancy  the  appearance  of  a  boy 
on  the  stage.  I  should  say  he  was  three  or  four  and 
twenty,  but  behind  the  footlights  he  did  not  look  as  if 
he  were  more  than  sixteen.  He  had  a  singularly  sweet 
voice  ;  much  better  then  than  it  is  now.  Playing 
Dundreary,  and  *  The  Crushed  Tragedian,'  have  prob- 
ably hardened  it,  and  destroyed  that  nice  shade  of  em- 
phasis which  then  enabled  him  to  give  a  tender  ex 
pression  in  pathetic  parts. 

"Mr.    Stuart's    next    move    was    to   the  Howard 


17?  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

Athaeneum  where  he  received  a  salary  I  think  of 
twenty  or  twenty-five  dollars  a  week.  I  remember  an 
incident  that  occurred  at  this  period  which  illustrates 
a  phase  of  his  character  to  which  I  have  just  referred. 
One  of  the  actors  by  the  name  of  Sneider,  a  quiet,  well 
behaved,  inoffensive  man,  who  was  very  poor,  was 
suddenly  taken  ill.  Stuart,  or  rather  let  us  call  him 
Sothern,  learning  this  fact,  went  to  the  quarters  of 
Sneider,  where  he  found  the  friendless,  penniless 
fellow  more  dead  than  alive,  in  a  miserable  back 
attic,  and  became  his  constant  nurse.  Apparently 
he  was  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption,  and  but  for 
the  care,  comfort  and  attention  rendered  by  his  new 
found  friend  he  probably  would  have  died.  I  have 
seen  him  two  or  three  times  within  a  few  years  and 
he  never  fails  to  speak  in  the  most  extravagant  terms 
of  the  kindness  and  affection  showed  him  during  that 
sickness. 

"  The  first  impression  produced  by  Mr.  Sothern  as  an 
actor  was  not  a  favorable  one.  The  truth  is,  he  had 
been  over  praised.  Mr.  Leonard,  the  manager,  had 
announced  it  in  advance  that  he  was  going  to  bring 
to  America  the  greatest  actor  that  had  ever  appeared 
on  its  stage,  and  thus  had  aroused  the  expectations 
of  the  people  to  such  a  degree  that  they  were 
naturally  disappointed  ;  hence  his  failure.  Besides, 
he  was  not  old  enough  to  make  a  sensation.  He 
couldn't  even  make  up  properly,  although  his  elocution 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  173 

was  correct,  and  he  was  perfect  in  whatever  part  he 
undertook.  I  don't  remember  the  different  pieces 
that  he  played,  yet  I  recall  the  fact  that  they  were 
remarkably  well  done  for  so  young  a  man.  But,  oh, 
how  sensitive  he  was,  especially  when  the  papers  cut 
him  up,  which  they  did  without  stint. 

"  In  all  Mr.  Sothern's  personal  dealings  he  was  the 
soul  of  honor,  always  having  a  strict  regard  for  truth. 
I  remember  that  when  he  left  our  house  he  hadn't  the 
money  with  which  to  travel  and  pay  his  expenses  to 
New  York  ;  but  there  was  one  of  my  servant  girls 
who  had  deposited  with  me  for  safe  keeping  some 
funds  of  her  own  amounting  I  think,  to  forty  or  fifty 
dollars,  and  with  her  consent  I  offered  him  that 
sum.  After  he  reached  New  York  and  was  able  to 
save  up  some  money  of  his  own,  one  of  the  first  things 
he  did  was  not  only  to  return  the  amount  borrowed, 
but  to  send  a  dress  to  the  girl,  the  value  of  which  was 
more  than  half  the  sum  loaned. 

"  The  worst  habit  he  had  at  that  time  was  drinking 
strong  coffee,  which  he  did  at  night  after  his  return 
from  the  theatre,  and  he  insisted  on  never  drinking 
alone.  If  I  or  the  other  people  in  the  house  had 
retired,  he  would  seize  the  dinner  bell  and  go  prancing 
up  and  down  the  premises  ringing  like  a  madman 
until  somebody  turned  out  to  keep  him  company  in  the 
dining-room.  Ah,  many  is  the  jolly  story  and  glori- 
ous laugh  we  had  over  those  cups  of  midnight  coffee. 


174  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"  One  night  he  was  in  more  than  nsnal  exuberant 
spirits,  but  I  had  gone  to  bed  very  tired  ;  he  rang  the 
bell,  he  pounded  at  the  dooi",  he  announced  that  if  I 
didn't  come  down  stairs  he  would  frighten  me  in  the 
most  dreadful  manner.  *  I'll  light  blue  fire,'  said  he, 
'  I'll  throw  a  skeleton  through  the  ventilator,  I'll  tie 
all  the  neighborhood  cats  together  and  hang  them  to 
your  door  knob  ;  I'll  sound  Chinese  gongs,  explode  a 
can  of  gunpowder,  and  raise  the  neighborhood  gen- 
erally unless  you  come  out  of  that  room,'  Of  course  I 
had  to  do  so  and  make  his  coffee.  He  was  simply  a 
big,  overgrown,  sympathetic,  jolly  boy.  Having  no 
relatives  of  my  own  I  have  always  thus  looked  upon 
him  more  as  a  son  than  anything  else,  and  up  to  this 
hour  he  has  been  as  filial  and  devoted  to  me  as  if  in 
truth  he  were  my  own  child. 

"  In  a  social  point  of  view  he  had  much  the  same 
characteristics  then  as  now.  He  was  always  fond  of 
animals,  and  had  cats,  dogs  and  birds  around  him  by 
the  score.  He  is  so  full  of  magnetism  that  nearly  all 
kinds  of  pets  take  to  him  naturally,  by  instinct,  as  it 
were,  and  he  in  turn  clings  to  them  with  all  the  affec- 
tion of  a  woman.  He  is  very  tender  and  domestic 
in  his  feelings  and  has  a  strong  partiality  for  home 
associations.  If  he  has  a  personal  fault,  it  is  that 
now  and  then  he  emphasizes  rather  strongly,  but  he 
does  even  this  in  such  an  easy,  spontaneous  way,  that 
the  most  refined  of  his  guests  will  forgive  the  breach. 


ABOUT   SOTHERN.  175 

SPIRITUAL   EXPERIENCES. 

"  Perhaps  you  never  heard  of  Sothern's  spiritual  ex- 
perience," writes  the  old  lady.  "  Well,  one  Saturday 
evening — ^by  the  way,  we  did  not  play  on  Saturday 
evenings  then — we  took  it  into  our  heads  to  have 
some  amusement  of  our  own,  and  I  proposed  to  go  to 
the  spirit  knockers.  Sothern  caught  at  the  idea 
eagerly  and  we  started  off.  Not  knowing  the  street 
in  which  they  resided  we  were  obliged  to  apply  at 
every  house  for  two  or  three  blocks,  Sothern  good- 
naturedly  assuming  the  role  of  an  unsophisticated 
countryman. 

"  At  last,  however,  we  found  the  spot,  and  fortu- 
nately I  was  recognized  by  the  inmates  of  the  house. 
A  circle  had  already  been  formed  around  the  table 
and  we  were  invited  to  take  seats  and  join  them. 
Sothern  pretended  to  be  intensely  excited — I  never 
saw  him  more  so.  He  scrutinized  all  the  surroundings 
closely,  asked  a  great  many  questions,  and  went 
home  apparently  quite  serious  and  bewildered.  He 
was  particularly  amused  by  the  husband  of  the 
medium,  who,  opening  the  window  in  the  apartment, 
at  10  o'clock,  declared  with  a  solemn  air  that  the 
spirits  had  departed — that  they  couldn't  stay  any 
longer.  He  got  up  and  went  to  the  window  to 
observe  where  they  had  gone,  and  you  never  saw  so 
surprised  a  man. 


176  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"  The  next  evening  Gustavus  V.  Brooke,  the  trage- 
dian, who  was  very  intimate  with  Mr.  Sothern,  came 
to  the  house,  and  making  up  a  large  party  we  repeated 
our  visit  to  the  rappers.  Brooke  was  likewise  very 
much  affected  by  what  he  saw,  and  shed  tears,  con- 
fessing that  the  spiritualists  had  described  home  scenes 
and  incidents  that  were  unknown  to  anybody  but 
himself.  When  we  returned  from  the  place  that 
night,  Sothern  remarked  :  '  Now  I  propose  to  devote 
my  life  to  finding  out  what  this  infernal  mystery  is. 
I  believe  it's  a  humbug,  and  I'll  know  it  and  that  right 
soon.  I  observe  that  the  man  always  opens  the  win- 
dow to  let  the  spirits  out  about  the  same  time  every 
evening — I  think  I  can  make  them  stay.  You  wait 
and  see !' 

"  A  fortnight  or  more  passed  away  during  which  we 
had  seances  at  my  own  house  for  the  purpose  of  dis- 
covering if  possible,  how  the  raps  were  produced. 
One  evening  the  medium  suddenly  turned  round,  and 
exclaiming  that  she  was  tired,  opened  the  window  as 
usual  and  remarked  that  the  spirits  had  gone. 
*  Stop  ! '  said  Mr.  Sothern,  '  they  have  not  gone. 
They  are  still  present,  and  I  hear  them  at  this 
moment  distinctly. '  Sure  enough,  the  raps  were 
immediately  reproduced  in  a  louder  and  more 
emphatic  manner  than  we  had  ever  heard  them 
before.  '  I  believe  I  can  do  even  better,'  said 
Sothern,  without  cracking  a  smile.      '  We'll  have  the 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  177 

spirit  rap  out  "  Yankee  Doodle,"  and  "  God  Save  the 
Queen." ' 

"  The  poor  medium  almost  fainted.  You  never  saw 
any  one  so  much  cut  up.  Thereupon  Sothern  pro- 
ceeded to  give  intelligent  answers  to  all  the  questions 
propounded,  and  mystified  us  more  completely  than 
we  had  been  before.  When  he  finished  he  turned  to 
the  company  and  said:  'Now  you  see  for  your- 
selves— ^this  woman  is  an  arrant  humbug.'  From  that 
time  on,  he  produced  the  most  wonderful  effects.  I 
don't  know  how  he  did  it,  but  perhaps  he  will  tell 
you  himself. 

"  I  remember  that  one  day  at  dinner  everything  on 

the  table  commenced  dancing,  until  at  last  the  table 

itself  moved  off  around  the  room  in  a  genuine  can-can. 

On  another  occasion,  Mr.  Tom  Hind,  the  husband  of 

Mrs.  Knight,  who  has  lately  been  playing  with  John 

Brougham,   said  :    '  My   dear   sir,   I   trust   you   don't 

expect  me  to  believe  any  of  this  nonsense.'     '  I  don't 

care  whether  you  do  or  not,'  said  Mr.  Sothern,  '  I  only 

know  there  it  is.'    They  then  sat  down,  and  in  less 

than  half  an  hour  Hind  was  sobbing  bitterly  before 

everybody,  and  fancying  that  the  spirit  of  his  father, 

and  that  of  his  dead  brother,  were  answering  his 

questions.     He  said  he  even  felt  them  clasp  his  hands 

and  knees,  and  smoothe  his  hair.    Among  other  things, 

he  asked  his  father  if  he  was  unhappy  on  account  of 

an  estrangement  which  existed  between  himself  and  a 
8* 


178  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

living  brother.  The  spirit  told  him  *Tes,'  and  rec- 
ommended a  reconciliation,  which  Hind  then  and 
there  promised,  although  it  was  a  brother  who  had 
injured  him,  and  the  concession  should  have  come 
from  that  side  of  the  house. 

"  Another  day  Joe  Jefferson  came  into  the  place  and 
said:  'You  may  talk  to  me  for  a  year,  but  can't 
make  me  believe  that  there  is  anything  spiritual  about 
this  thing.'  The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his 
mouth  before  the  chair  on  which  he  was  sitting  com- 
menced to  move.  Joe  sat  there,  however,  and  was 
carried  back  and  forth  with  astonishment  depicted 
on  every  feature.  I  think  he  will  remember  that 
incident  to  his  dying  day. 

"  Sothern  was  always  full  of  his  practical  jokes  at 
that  time  just  as  he  is  now.  One  night  a  very 
respectable  old  Irish  woman  who  did  our  washing, 
came  into  the  room. 

" '  Good  evening,  Mrs.  McCarthy,'  said  he,  *  I  hope 
you  are  very  well !  But  who  in  the  world  is  that 
with  you  ? ' 

"  *  Wid  me  ! '  said  the  astonished  woman,  '  why 
nobody,  sure.' " 

"  *  Yes,  there  is  a  man  behind  you  ;  and  it's  your 
husband.' 

" '  Me  hiisband !  Shure,  why  he's  dead,  sir,  close 
on  to  twinty  year.' 

"  *  It  makes  no  difference,  Mrs.  McCarthy  ;  there  he 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  179 

stands  as  plain  as  the  ten  fingers  before  me  ; '  and 
Sothern  proceeded  in  an  off-hand  way  to  describe  the 
dead  man  with  the  utmost  accuracy. 

"  '  But  let  me  see,'  said  Sothern,  '  where  did  he  die  ? 
That's  curious !  Did  he  die  in  Europe  ?  No.  In 
Asia  ?  No.  Ireland  ?  No.  In  America  ?  No  ;' 
then  suddenly  looking  up  :  '  Why,  did  he  die  at  sea.' 
The  words  were  no  sooner  out  of  his  mouth  than  the 
woman  went  down  on  her  knees  in  a  state  of  fright, 
and  clasping  her  hands,  exclaimed  : 

"  God  bless  yer  kind  heart,  sir,  but  for  heaven's 
sake  kape  him  where  he  is  ;  don't  let  him  come  back.' 

"  '  But  I  can't  help  it,'  said  the  joker,  with  a  myste- 
rious and  solemn  air,  *  there  he  stands  right  by  your 
side,  smoking  a  pipe.' 

'  The  poor  woman  rolled  over  in  a  dead  faint,  and 
it  was  some  minutes  before  we  could  restore  her  to 
consciousness.  When  she  left,  Sothern  kindly  gave 
her  a  five-dollar  bill  and  told  her  not  to  be  alarmed, 
for  her  husband  would  never  disturb  her  again.  The 
fun  of  it  was,  that  in  the  coarse  of  previous  conversa- 
tion with  the  washerwoman,  she  herself  had  repeated 
all  the  circumstances  connected  with  her  husband,  and 
he,  remembering  them,  had  adroitly  availed  himself 
of  the  opportunity  for  one  of  his  practical  jests. 

"  On  another  night,  in  the  presence  of  a  company 
who  had  assembled  to  see  these  Avonderful  spiritual 
manifestations,  he  brought  up  the  ghosts  of  several 


I  So  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

departed  people,  in  blue  flames,  in  red  flames,  and 
yellow  flames ;  and  would  you  believe  it,  there  were 
those  present  who  imagined  that  they  actually  saw 
the  spirits  of  their  relatives  and  friends.  Of  course,  it 
was  only  a  trick. 

GOOD    DEEDS. 

"  On  a  certain  occasion,  one  of  our  servants — a  girl 
named  Julia — who  had  concealed  her  few  savings  in 
a  boot,  accidentally  threw  it  into  the  fire,  and  a  good 
deal  of  the  money  was  destroyed.  Mr.  Sothern,  as 
soon  as  he  found  it  out,  not  only  gave  her  a  sum  to 
replace  a  portion  of  her  loss,  but  insisted  on  going 
over  the  barrel  of  ashes,  where  the  debris  had  been 
thrown — which  he  did  with  his  own  hands — and  there 
recovered  a  considerable  number  of  the  bills,  although 
in  a  damaged  state.  Taking  them  to  a  friend  of  his, 
however,  who  was  a  broker,  he  succeeded  in  getting 
good  money  for  all  the  bills  that  could  be  recognized. 
The  poor  girl  was  overwhelmed  with  gratitude.  Acta 
of  this  kind  were  everyday  events  of  his  private  life, 
and  I  only  mention  an  incident  so  simple  because  it 
illustrates  his  character. 

RESCUING   A   RUNAWAY. 
"During  that  period  a  singular  incident  occurred  in 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  i8i 

counection  with  the  daughter  of  quite  a  distinguished 
public  official.  It  had  been  announced  in  the  papers 
of  the  day  that  she  had  run  away  dressed  in  boy's 
clothes.  One  evening  Mr.  Sothern  came  home  in  a 
state  of  great  excitement,  saying  that  while  at  the 
house  of  a  friend  of  his  who  was  a  medium,  he  had 
observed  what  seemed  to  be  a  boy  of  effeminate 
appearance,  and  that  recalling  the  circumstances 
which  had  been  made  public,  he  determined  to  watch 
the  unknown  person  closely,  and  if  possible  learn  her 
history.  Before  the  sitting  was  over  his  suspicions 
were  confirmed  by  the  discovery  that  the  supposed 
boy  was  in  reality  a  young  girl.  She  made  a  frank, 
full  confession  to  him,  and  the  next  day  he  sought  her 
out  in  her  lodgings,  and  finding  her  to  be  in  a  state  of 
destitution,  supplied  her  wants,  paid  her  bills,  and 
eventually  secured  her  return  to  her  home.  It  appears 
that  she  was  in  the  habit  of  going  to  the  medium's 
house  to  consult  the  spirit  of  her  mother,  and  if  pos- 
sible find  out  through  this  means  the  whereabouts  of 
the  man  by  whom  she  had  been  deceived,  and  whose 
life  it  was  her  intention  to  take.  I  saw  the  girl  my- 
self, and  she  told  me  that  her  new  found  friend  had 
more  convinced  her  of  the  error  of  her  ways  than  all 
the  clergymen  in  Boston  could  have  done. 


1 82  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

ONLY  AN  ACTOR. 

"Coming  home  from  the  National  Theatre  one 
night,  Sothern  went  through  the  unique  experience 
of  being  robbed.  As  he  was  passing  along  Merrimac 
street  he  was  seized  by  three  men,  dragged  into  an 
alley,  and  gagged.  While  searching  for  his  valua- 
bles, the  light  of  a  bull's  eye  lantern  being  thrown 
upon  his  face,  he  was  at  once  recognized  as  *  Stuart, 
the  actor.'  One  of  the  fellows  said  :  '  Oh,  let  him  go  ; 
he  is  one  of  the  profession  ;  a  public  man  ;  he  isn't 
worth  going  through,  anyhow.'  Whereupon  they  re- 
stored to  him  his  ring  and  money,  and  making  him 
promise  not  to  divulge  the  affair,  they  released  him, 
and  he  was  allowed  to  proceed. 

LAURA  KEENE. 

"  While  in  New  York,  and  before  he  made  any  hit, 
he  had  a  dispute  with  Laura  Keene,  concerning  some 
trivial  affair  at  rehearsal,  and  she  became  highly  ex- 
cited. After  a  brief  quarrel  on  the  stage,  she  retired 
to  her  dressing-room,  and  still  angry,  sent  for  him  and 
commenced  to  rate  him  roundly.  Sothern  said  to  her  : 
*Stop  !  Laura — stop  just  a  minute  !'  and  advancing 
to  the  light,  deliberately  turned  it  down. 

" '  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir  ? '  said  she,  in  a 
rage. 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  185 

" '  Oh,  nothing,'  rejoined  Mr.  Sothern,  "  but  you 
have  always  been  so  lovely  to  me  that  I  can't  bear  to 
look  upon  your  beautiful  face  when  you  are  in  a 
passion.  Now,  go  on ! "  She  never  said  another 
word  of  unkindness  to  him  during  her  life  time. 

*'  I  was  trying  to  recall,"  writes  Mrs.  Vincent,  in  a 
postcript,  "  where  I  heard  this  anecdote,  and  I  now  re- 
member that  it  was  told  to  me  by  Miss  Laura  Keene 
herself,  and  she  added  that  he  was  '  the  most  im- 
pudent, audacious,  good-for-nothing,  good-hearted 
fellow,'  she  ever  met.  That  was  her  estimate  of  him 
when  he  was  young,  and  the  friendship  formed 
during  those  early  days  continued  until  her  death." 

SOTHERN    AND    HIS  FISHING    BOOTS. 

Every  summer  Sothern  and  a  party  of  friends  are 
in  the  habit  of  going  to  Canada  on  a  fishing  and  hunt- 
ing jaunt.  The  first  day  the  party  went  out  last 
year  to  "cast  a  fly,"  after  their  arrival  at  the  sal- 
mon grounds,  Sotheru  and  George  Holland  went  up 
the  stream  to  find  a  pool  that  looked  "  fishy."  A 
desirable  s{)ot  was  soon  reached,  and  taking  their 
stations  some  sixty  or  seventy  yards  apart,  they  began 
their  endeavors  to  hook  a  salmon. 

The  river  was  quite  shallow  in  places — with  a  tre- 
mendously swift  current,  and  icy  cold.  Both  wore 
India  rubber  boots,  of  the  kind  commonly  worn  by 


1 86  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

fishermen  who  have  to  wade  in  water,  coming  well  up 
the  leg  inside,  and  on  the  outside  quite  up  to  the 
waist.  They  were  held  in  place  by  a  loop  on  the  out- 
side of  each  leg,  at  the  waist,  a  belt  around  the  body 
being  passed  through  these  loops.  Sothern,  however, 
seemed  to  have  it  in  his  mind  that  the  boots  were 
waist  high  all  around,  at  least  if  one  may  judge  from 
what  happened. 

George  saw  him  commence  to  wade  in,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  reaching  a  certain  pool  with  his  "  fly" ;  but 
being  busy  with  his  own  work,  for  the  moment  paid 
no  further  attention.  Directly,  however,  Sothern  was 
heard  growling  about  something,  and  then  followed  a 
series  of  extraordinary  ejaculations  : — 

"  Ouch  !  Oh  !  A-h-h-h-h  !  Blank  —  blanketty — 
blank — blank — oouch  !  !"  And  Sothern  acted  as  if  he 
had  a  fit  of  the  shivering  ague. 

George  put  down  his  rod,  and  going  to  the  edge  of 
the  water,  near  where  Sothern  was  wading,  said  : 
"Hallo,  Ned,  what's  the  matter?"  observing  at  the 
same  time  that  Sothern  was  in  pretty  deep  water  for  a 
man  whose  rubber  boots  only  reached  half  way  up  his 
thighs. 

"  The  matter,"  says  Sothern,  "  Ooouch  !  Ah-h-h-h  !  ! 
Oh  I  Blazes — Oh  ! — blanketty — blank — the  blanked 
man  that  sold  me  these  boots — Oooch  !" 

"Why,"  said  George,  "what's  the  matter  with 
your  boots  ?" 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  187 

"Matter  with  'em,"  replied  Sothern,  "why  the 
blank  things  are  all  full  of  blanketty-blank  holes. 
Oooch — Ah-h-h-h  !  Blank  it — I'm  freezing" — and  he 
waded  out. 

It  appears  that  he  had  gone  on  wading  until  the 
water  reached  the  top  of  his  boots,  and  commenced  to 
run  down  inside.  Ned  looked  to  see  how  high  they 
reached,  but  instead  of  investigating  between  his  legs, 
he  looked  outside  at  his  hips — where  the  tops  of  the 
boots  were  a  good  six  inches  from  the  top  of  the 
water  —  and  instantly  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  boots  were  rotten,  or  something  of  the  kind,  and 
that  the  water  was  pouring  through,  instead  of  into 
them.  When  Holland  understood  what  had  really 
happened,  be  began  in  the  wildest  way  to  roll  over 
and  over  on  the  ground,  and  as  often  as  his  laughter 
would  permit,  got  rid  of  some  remarks,  such  as  "  Well 
I'll  be  blanked— Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !— Oh,  Lord  !  Didn't 
know  where  the  tops  of  his  boots  were — ha !  ha  !  ha  !" 
and  so  on,  until  Sothern  really  began  to  look  as 
though  he  was  rapidly  freezing  in  his  boots.  Then 
George,  calling  the  guides  together,  stood  Ned  on  his 
head,  and  let  the  water  run  out. 

A  few  pulls  at  a  bottle  of  whisky  somewhat  warmed 
up  the  unfortunate  fisherman,  and  he  was  all  right 
again.  Sothern  offered  Holland  untold  wealth,  if  he 
would  "  kindly  not  say  anything  to  anybody  about 
this  little  mistake,  you  know," — but  George  couldn't 


V88  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

keep  the  joke,  and  when  he  told  it  to  Billy  Florence,  on 
their  return  to  camp,  and  that  individual  commenced 
to  haw !  haw  !  and  howl  around  the  place,  and 
poke  all  sorts  of  fun  at  Ned,  the  latter  immediately 
said  :  "  The  whole  thing  was  a  blamed  lie,"  and  that 
he  could,  "  individually  and  collectively,  thrash  the 
whole  camp."  Then  he  went  off  in  the  woods  by 
himself,  took  the  trees  into  his  confidence,  and  said 
unpleasant  things  about  George  Holland. 

THE     QUEBEC    SPORTSMAN. 

There  is  another  incident  of  last  summer's  salmon 
fishing  trip,  described  by  George  Holland,  who  was 
one  of  the  party,  that  is  worthy  of  being  repeated. 
Unfortunately  it  is  impossible  to  reproduce  Holland's 
inimitable  manner  while  telling  the  story.  It  ap- 
pears that  the  company  had  arrived  at  Quebec  from 
Montreal  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  as  their 
ship  was  not  to  leave  until  two  in  the  afternoon  they 
had  a  few  hours  to  "do"  the  town.  Accordingly 
jumping  in  two  vehicles  called  "  caleches,"  they  first 
visited  the  citadel  and  fortifications,  then  the  falls, 
and  finally  made  a  tour  of  the  city  itself.  After  a 
dinner  at  a  restaurant,  finding  they  had  still  an  hour 
for  a  walk,  Florence,  Holland  and  So  them  started 
down  the  principal  street  to  look  around. 

Suddenly  Florence  commenced  to  yell  :     "  Hi,  hi, 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  189 

there !  You — you  man  with  the  birds  !  Hi,  hi, 
come  here  !" 

Sothern  and  Holland  turned  to  see  what  the  bluster 
was  all  about,  and  observed  Florence  wildly  gesticu- 
lating to  a  man  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  who 
was  carrying  a  lot  of  birds  on  a  string. 

Sothern  said  :  "  Florence,  what  the  mischief  is  the 
row  ?  " 

Florence  replied  :  "  Sh-h-h-h  !  Birds,  my  boy, 
birds,  "We'll  buy  them  from  this  sportsman,  and  take 
'em  down  with  us  ;  it  will  be  a  pleasant  change  of 
diet.     '  Broiled  birds  on  toast,'  you  know." 

By  this  time,  the  spoi-tsraan  (?)  had  crossed  the 
street  and  was  standing  before  the  trio.  He  was 
rather  a  singular  sort  of  a  fellow,  and  withal  a  Ger- 
man. His  face  was  about  as  expressive  as  a  bologna 
sausage,  and  though  not  deaf,  it  seemed  to  take 
minutes  for  each  inquiry  to  reach  his  understanding. 
This  at  first  made  Florence  think  he  couldn't  hear. 

Billy  opened  the  negotiations  by  asking  :  "  Do  you 
want  to  sell  your  birds  ?  " 

The  Teutonic  sportsman,  after  a  long,  dull  look,  re- 
plied, "Vot?" 

"  I  say,"  repeated  Billy,  much  louder,  "  do  you  want 
to  sell  your  birds  ?  " 

The  same  long,  dull  look  from  the  man,  and  then 
he  drawled  out :    "  Veil,  yes,  I  dink  I  sells  dem." 

"  Well,  how  much  for  them  ?  " 


I90  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"  Vot  ? "  with  the  same  stolidity  as  before. 

"I  say  how  much  for  them?"  howled  Florence. 

«  You  buy  dem  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I'll  buy  them.  How  much  do  you  want 
for  them?" 

"You  buy  dem  allf' 

"  Yes,  yes,  I'll  buy  them  all.  Come  now,  let's  finish 
the  bargain." 

"Vot?"  with  the  same  stupid  look. 

"  Oh,  Lord  !"  said  Billy,  now  getting  red  in  the  face. 
"What  a  stupid  fellow  !  Look  here,  how  much  for 
the  birds  ?" 

The  vender  of  game  for  the  first  time  seemed  to  un- 
derstand, for  he  commenced  very  slowly,  and  in  the 
most  exasperating  way  to  deliberately  count  his  mis- 
erable bunch.  Florence  was  getting  very  impatient, 
and  just  going  to  bawl  out  again,  when  the  man 
looked  at  him  as  before,  and  slowly  remarked  : — 

"  Veil !  I  sells  dem  for  two  dollar." 

"All  right,"  said  Billy.  "Now,  where  did  you 
shoot  them?" 

"Vot?" 

"  I  say,  where  did  you  shoot  them  ?'* 

"  Vere  I  shood  'em  ?" 

"Yes,,  where?" 

**  I  shood  dem  out  mit  der  woods.  Vould  you  dink 
I  shood  birds  in  my  front  barlour  ?" 

This  rather  staggered  Billy,  and  they  all  commenced 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  191 

to  laugh  at  him,  for  he  was  now  the  color  of  a  boiled 
lobster,  but  yelling  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  he  replied  : 

"  Why,  of  course  ;  I  suppose  you  shot  them  in 
the  woods,  but  hoio  did  you  shoot  them  ?" 

"  Vot  ?" 

"  I  say,  hov}  did  you  shoot  tJiem  f" 

"  How  I  shood  'em  ?" 

"Yes,  how?    Did  you  shoot  them  on  the  winff?" 

"  Vot  ?" 

"  Did  you  shoot  them  on  the  WING  ?" — howling  in 
his  ear. 

"I  shood  'em on  der  ving?" 

"  Yes,  on  the  xcing."  And  here  Florence  went 
through  a  pantomime  with  his  arms  to  describe  a 
bird  using  his  wings. 

The  sportsman,  gravely  looked  at  Billy  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  replied  : 

"  Veil.  I  ain'd  barticular  ;  some  I  shoods  on  der 
wing,  some  I  shoods  on  der  head,  and  some  I  shoods 
on  der  tail.  Id's  all  der  same  so  long  vot  I  got  'em." 
And  then  he  looked  at  Billy,  as  though  he  was  saying 
interaally,  "  Vot  idea ;  shood  birds  in  der  wing  ;  vot 
vool  man  !" 

Billy  bought  the  birds  and  left  instantly,  observing 
that  he  felt  sure  gunning  as  a  high  art  did  not  flourish 
in  Canada. 


192  TALKS     WITHy    AND 

A    PHRENOLOGICAL    SEANCE. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  many  breakfast 
parties  presided  over  by  Mr.  Sothern,  during  the 
summer  of  this  year,  18V8,  was  one  given  at  an  adjacent 
watering  place,  at  which  were  present  as  choice  a 
company  of  conversational  spirits  as  ever  gathered 
around  the  mahogany.  Among  them  was  a  sculptor, 
a  portrait  painter,  Wm.  J.  Florence,  John  McCullough, 
the  tragedian,  John  T.  Raymond,  a  witty  New  York 
judge,  and  a  professional  "bon  vivant,"  too  wealthy  to 
lay  claim  to  any  calling  in  particular. 

It  is  because  one  of  the  chief  subjects  of  table-talk, 
discussed  after  the  removal  of  the  cloth,  related  to 
personal  characteristics,  and  particularly  to  those  of 
mine  host,  that  a  chapter  is  devoted  to  a  description 
of  Mr.  Sothern,  which  he  subsequently  confessed  is 
as  true  as  if  he  had  run  the  gauntlet  of  a  professional 
phrenologist. 

"  Mac,"  the  sculptor,  had  been  dwelling  with  elo- 
quent emphasis  upon  the  thought,  that,  notwithstanding 
the  Creator  had  constructed  every  man  with  precisely 
the  same  physical  machinery,  no  two  individuals 
amongst  millions  of  human  beings  present  exactly  the 
same  facial  expression.  "  The  remark  is  equally  true 
of  the  configuration  of  the  head,  and  that  is  one 
reason,"  said  the  artist,  "why  I  have  more  or  less 
faith  in  the  science  of  phrenology." 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  193 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  Mr.  Sothern  remarked,  "  and 
if  you  are  an  artist  in  skulls,  just  run  your  fingers 
through  my  hair  and  tell  me  something  about  myself." 

"And  keep  back  nothing,"  interposed  Judge  B. 
"  We  want  to  know  what  manner  of  man  this  is,  who 
does  Dundreary  one  day,  drunken  David  Garrick  on 
another,  and  the  *  Crushed  Tragedian '  on  a  third,  and 
equally  loses  his  identity  in  each  part." 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Sothern,  "  keep  back  nothing ; 
pitch  into  me  right  and  left." 

The  sculptor  thereupon  proceeded  with  his  cranial 
investigation.  "In  the  first  place,"  said  he,  "the 
general  indications  of  the  brain  arc,  a  decided  pre- 
dominance of  the  mental  over  the  physical.  You 
are,  therefore,  more  or  less  swayed  by  impulse. 
You  are  likewise  excessively  nervous  and  impatient, 
although  w^hen  at  rest  delicate  in  your  instincts  and 
intuitions,  susceptible,  emotional,  and  sympathetic. 
The  brain  is  not  a  large  one,  and  I  observe  from  the 
manner  in  which  you  blush  that  there  is  a  tendency  of 
blood  to  the  head  center.  Physically  I  note  also  that 
you  have  a  full,  deep  chest,  with  a  corresponding  voice, 
indicative  of  healthy  lungs,  and  are,  therefore,  of  an 
elastic,  buoyant,  and  animated  disposition.  I  should 
say  you  were  capable  of  great  vigor,  in  all  the  mental 
and  bodily  functions,  enabling  you  to  throw  off  a 
large  amount  of  hard  work,  although  afterwards  a  re- 
action is  apt  to  follow.     Let   me   feel    your   pulse. 


194  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

Good !  It's  slow,  strong,  and  steady.  I  shouldn't 
think  you  were  liable  to  sickness." 

"  Unless  it's  the  gout !"  ejaculated  Judge  B.,  paren- 
thetically. 

"  Silence  !"  broke  in  Mr.  Sothern,  "  I  can  digest  like 
an  ostrich." 

Mac  continued  : — "You  are  much  influenced  by  first 
impressions,  and  have  strong  intuitive  likes  and  dislikes 
that  are  hard  to  eradicate.  You  throw  a  great 
amount  of  feeling  into  everything,  and  use  forcible 
adjectives  ;  have  an  active  and  acute  mind,  bad  busi- 
ness talents,  a  retentive  memory  and  ready  flow  of 
ideas.  You  love  action  for  its  own  sake,  are  wide- 
awake, versatile  in  talent,  flexible  and  suggestive. 
Excitability  is  largely  developed,  for  whilst  you  com- 
bine promptness,  judgment  and  affability,  you  are 
extremely  susceptible  to  and  intensely  excited  by 
trifles.  One  hour  you  are  in  the  attic,  the  next  in  the 
cellar — extremes  common  to  all  nervous  temperaments. 
Amativeness  is  large,  and  you  strongly  attract  and  are 
attracted  by  the  opposite  sex ;  easily  win  their  affec- 
tionate regards  and  kindle  their  love,  although  innate 
delicacy  would  not  allow  you  to  ally  yourself  with  one 
not  possessing  a  thoroughly  refined  manner.  The  love 
of  children  is  also  finely  developed,  and,  as  regards 
your  own,  whilst  you  are  ambitious  to  acquire  prop- 
erty, it  is  more  for  the  purpose  of  laying  by  a  fortune 
for  them  than  for  the   pleasure  its  possession  may 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  195 

afford  to  you.     Still  you  love  them  too  well  to  spoil 
them." 

"  True  !"  interpolated  Mr.  Sothern. 

"  Another  feature  which  I  notice  in  this  connection 
is  your  dislike  to  solitude.  In  friendships  you  are 
warm  and  cordial.  Benevolence  is  large,  and  coupled 
with  aliraentiveness  indicates  hospitality,  a  love  of  the 
social  banquet,  and  delight  in  setting  the  best  before 
friends.  These  faculties  being  combined  with  mirth- 
fulness,  ideality,  wit  and  humoi*,  give  a  lively  and 
jocose  turn  to  conversation,  and  are  calculated  to 
render  you  the  life  of  a  table.  You  are  a  frightful 
joker  yourself,  but  keenly  feel  the  successful  jests  of 
others,  when  you  are  victimized  yourself." 

SoTHERX. — "No!  no!     I  enjoy  being  sold  !" 

"  Your  sense  of  attachment  to  home  and  home  sur- 
roundings is  very  great,  and  you  are  not  satisfied  unless 
you  have  a  place,  whether  it  be  a  house  or  a  mere  sleep- 
ing-room in  which  to  expend  this  feeling.  However 
much  of  a  cosmopolite  you  may  be  now,  you  are  eagerly 
anticipating  the  time  when  you  can  settle  down.  Still,  - 
notwithstanding  the  desire  to  possess  a  permanent 
habitation,  the  memory  of  early  friends,  and  the 
happy  hours  you  have  spent,  and  a  wish  to  enjoy 
again  the  scenes  of  the  past,  will  always  remain  strong 
within  you  and  tend  to  draw  you  from  your  seclusion."* 

*  The  foregoing  criticism  is  essentially  true,  for  amongst 
the  many  entertainments  given  by  Mr.   Sothern,   none  are 


I9i5  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"  The  selfish  propensities,"  continued  the  sculptor, 
**are  moderately  large,  that  is  to  sa^^  you  will  always 
take  good  care  of  Number  One.  You  have  the  utmost 
love  and  tenacity  of  life,  and  would  cling  to  it  with 
despei'ation,  struggling  determinedly  against  disease 
and  death,  and  yet,  withal,  are  not  destitute  of  the 
moral  courage  enabling  you  to  meet  fate  unflinchingly. 
In  time  of  danger  you  would  exhibit  unusual  presence 
of  mind,  coolness  and  intrepidity." 

"  Yes,"  observed  Judge  B.  turning  to  the  gentlemen 
present — "  that  was  illustrated  by  the  remark  of  one 
of  the  firemen  on  duty  at  the  theatre  the  other  night, 
when  some  portion  of  the  scenery  was  ignited  by  a 
gas-burner.  He  exclaimed,  *  my  heavens  !  look  at  the 
coolness  of  the  "  Crushed,"  he's  playing  as  unconcern- 
edly'as  if  there  wasn't  a  scare  within  a  mile  of  him. ' " 

"  Oh  !  well,"  retorted  Mr  Sothern,  "  there  wasn't 
much  to  be  frightened  about.  It  was  only  a  yard 
or  two  of  flame,  and  good  men  around  you  to  take 
care  of  it.  Besides,  there  is  nothing  like  repressing  a 
panic  at  the  outset." 

"  Anyhow,"  continued  the  sculptor,  "  the  incident  is 
a  tribute  to  the  truth  of  my  diagnosis." 

more  delightfully  memorable  than  those  which  have  taken 
place  at  his  own  parlors  in  the  Gramercy  Park  Hotel. 
Scores  of  the  brightest  intellects,  representing  all  profes- 
sions, have  assembled  here  and  participated  in  mental  and 
gastronomic  pleasures  as  rare  as  they  have  been  unique. — 
Editorial  Note. 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  197 

"The  bump  of  combativeness  stands  out  almost  like 
a  knot,  and,  by  the  by,  take  it  all  in  all,  it's  about 
the  knottiest  head  I  ever  felt." 

Billy  Florence. — Oh,  you  naughty  man,  but  we'll 
"  set  down  (n)  aught  in  malice." 

Judge  B, — I  sigh  for  a  rest. 

Billy  Florence. — What  would  Ned  do  if  any- 
body should  insult  "  the  Crushed  "  ? 

Phrenologist. — Knock  him  down,  sir  !  baste  the 
fiend  until  he  apologized,  and  perhaps  the  next  day  in- 
vite him  to  dinner. 

Billy  Florence. — Yes,  I  remember  we  were  once 
travelling  out  West,  when  a  brute  of  a  man — a  six- 
footer — on  the  cars  did  something  to  excite  the  ire 
of  Ned.  I  think  he  attempted  to  occupy  a  reserved 
portion  of  the  car  chartered  by  us,  and  refused  to 
move,  accompanying  his  refusal  with  a  torrent  of 
offensive  language,  whereupon  Ned  moved  on  him 
like  a  streak  of  animated  lightning,  had  the  fellow 
on  the  floor  before  he  could  say  Jack  Robinson, 
polished  him  off  splendidly,  dragged  him  to  the 
door  of  the  car,  pummelled  him  again,  and  when 
he  kicked  him  off  the  platform  the  man  looked 
as  though  he  had  been  fighting  with  the  walking- 
beam  of  an  engine.  When  Ned  got  back  to  his  seat 
he  re-adjusted  his  eye-glasses  and  in  his  own  inimi- 
table manner  drawled  forth  :  "  Tha — tha — thaath — 
what  I  call  muth — muthcularr  Chwistianity." 


198  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"The  whole  story  is  a  wild  fabrication,"  said 
Sothern. 

"  Yet,  after  all,"  resumed  the  sculptor,  "  Mr.  Sothern 
is  not  a  fighting  or  an  aggressive  man  ;  anything  but 
that — ^but  he  will  defend  himself,  his  personal  interests, 
and  the  character  of  his  friends,  and  resent  insult 
with  a  vim  that  will  astonish  any  man  who  picks  him 
up  for  a  saint." 

"  How  about  his  alimentary  propensities  ?"  inquired 
Judge  B. 

"  Oh,  I  can  answer  that,"  said  Larry  M — — ,  the  bon 
viA'ant,  who,  by  the  by  is  one  of  the  best  critics  in 
the  metropolis  of  everything  connected  with  social 
pleasure,  from  a  choice  vintage  to  the  latest  opera 
bouffe.  "For  a  man  of  his  opportunities  he  is  the  most 
spirituel  eater  I  ever  met  with,  but  he  makes  believe 
he  is  eating  and  drinking  in  the  most  remarkable 
manner.  I  have  known  him  to  order  the  most  ex- 
travagant of  dishes  for  no  other  apparent  purpose  than 
see  some  friend  enjoy  the  spread." 

"  True !"  observed  Sothern.  "  I  can't  bear  to  eat 
alone.  For  years  wherever  I  have  a  fixed  residence  I 
always  order  dinner  for  two  or  three.  '  Plain  fare 
and  plenty  of  friends,'  that's  my  motto." 

"Now,  let  me  go  on  once  more,"  remarked  Mac. 
"  I  find  here  comparatively  little  deception  or  secre- 
tiveness.  The  consequence  is  that  you  would  be  a 
frank  and  open  enemy,  and,  therefore,  unreseiwed  and 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  199 

generous  to  a  fault  among  your  friends.  This,  how- 
ever, does  not  i^revent  the  exercise  of  prudence  and 
the  other  qualities  which  belong  to  a  successful 
man.  There's  a  fair  love  of  approbation,  but  in 
a  professional  sense  it  is  so  mingled  with  a  desire  to 
attain  success  that  you  rather  invite  than  shrink  from 
just  criticism  in  matters  appertaining  to  your  art,  to 
the  end  that  you  may  avail  yourself  of  every  thought 
calculated  to  improve  the  same,  and  to  aid  you  in 
creating  perfect  characters.  Your  organ  of  self- 
esteem  evinces  a  good  degree  of  dignity  and  personal 
respect  without  haughtiness,  and  in  connection  with 
your  combativeness,  firmness,  and  hope,  shows  that 
you  rely  entirely  upon  your  own  energies  in  cases  of 
emergency.  It  would  be  impossible  for  you  to  be 
conceited  or  to  exhibit  meanness.  I  should  say  that 
you  Mere  inclined  to  be  willful  and  thoroughly  de- 
termined in  purpose,  not  so  much  so,  however,  as  to 
interfere  with  the  desire  that  is  uppermost  with  refer- 
ence to  high  achievements  in  your  profession.  By  the 
way,  Mr.  Sothern,  I  wish  to  pay  you  a  compliment  by 
remarking  that  you  never  procrastinate.  *  Whatso- 
ever your  hand  findeth  to  do,  it  doeth  it  with  all  its 
might.'  In  this  consists  one  of  the  chief  secrets  of 
your  success.  You  are  strongly  influenced  by  a  sense 
of  duty,  but  are  equally  exacting  in  this  respect  in 
your  demands  upon  others.  You  are  generous  enough 
lo    give   money   freely,   but   in   lending   require   the 


200  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

utmost  obedience  to  a  promise.  I  don't  think  you 
have  much  veneration.  You  are  not  quick  to  forgive, 
and  never  forget  either  evil  or  good.  I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  hope  is  only  moderately  developed  in  you, 
but  you  possess  a  rare  determination  which  enables 
you  to  carry  forward  the  objects  you  desire  to  achieve. 
I  don't  think  you  are  much  given  to  spirituality,  but 
are  inclined  to  be  skeptical,  and  to  demand  proof 
before  believing  ;  consequently  you  would  make  a 
first-rate  investigator  of  spiritual  phenomena.  You 
are  a  benevolent  man,  in  fact,  inclined  to  do  good  too 
impulsively.  Your  disposition  is  to  help  your  friends, 
and  bring  them  to  the  front,  especially  in  your  profes- 
sion. It  would  not  do  for  you  to  be  at  the  head  of  an 
orphan  or  a  blind  asylum,  for  your  sympathies  would 
exhaust  your  pocket-book.  But  for  a  certain  amount 
of  tenderness,  which  at  times  makes  you  painfully 
nervous,  you  would  be  a  first-rate  nurse.  As  it  is  you 
suffer  in  the  presence  of  suffering  almost  as  much  as 
the  victim.*  You  like  style,  but  are  not  ostentatious  ; 
are  fond  of  the  fine  arts,  and  surround  yourself  with 
many  of  their  beautiful  creations.  You  can  endure 
nothing  that  is  imperfect  or  sensual.  You  are  natu- 
rally ingenious,  quick  to  accept  suggestions,  and  apt  in 
making  improvements.  Imitation  is  very  large,  and 
there  is  a  certain  keenness  of  sense  that  would  render 
you  a  close  copyist.  Hence  your  power  of  mimicry. 
This,  added  to  your  natural  love  of  that  which   is 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  201 

beautiful  and  refined  in  nature  or  art,  enables  you  to 
give  a  finish  to  every  act  and  word,  thought  and  feel- 
ing which  you  desire  to  express.  You  are  satisfied 
with  nothing  that  is  commonplace." 

The  Judge. — Your  criticism,  Mr.  Phrenologist,  ac- 
counts for  Ned's  success  as  an  artist.  Just  as  the  cornet 
player  produces  fine  shades  of  interpretation  upon  his 
instrument, — as  the  painter  by  a  mere  bit  of  color, 
gives  character  to  his  picture,  or  the  sculptor  with  a 
stroke  of  his  chisel,  adds  a  line  of  characteristic 
beauty  to  '  the  human  form  divine,'  so  Sothern, 
with  his  rare  appreciation  of  the  humorous,  the 
pathetic,  and  the  ludicrous,  is  enabled  to  personate, 
without  apparent  effort,  those  delicate  outlines  of  hu- 
manity, that  make  him  the  actor  he  is.  Don't  you 
think,  Ned,  you  do  these  things  without  knowing  it. 

Mr.  Sothern. — No,  that's  where  you  are  mis- 
taken. I  accomplish  nothing  in  my  art  without  care- 
ful study  and  observation,  although  I  will  confess  that 
once  full  of  a  subject,  my  work  flows  from  me  spon- 
taneously. When  I  assume  a  character,  I  know 
nothing  else  for  the  time  being. 

The  Judge. — Poeta  nascitur  nonfit. 

"  No  one  will  deny,"  said  the  sculptor,  resuming  his 

examination,  "  that  your  organ  of  mirthf  ulness  is  an 

exceedingly  large  one.     It  is   not  of   that  character, 

however,  that  makes  you  the  clown  of  a  company. 

You  always  enjoy  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  absurdity  of 
9* 


202  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

others,  anl  delight  in  practical  jokes.  Imitation  and 
language  being  well  developed,  you  are  fond  of  narra- 
tive, and  of  illustrating  in  dress,  expression,  and 
manners,  the  idiosyncrasies  of  individuals.  I  should 
say  that  you  have  a  thorough  contempt  for  pretenders 
of  all  kinds,  and  are  quick  to  discover  nice  shades  of 
character  in  those  about  you,  especially  such  as  appeal 
to  your  sense  of  honor.  You  are  a  good  judge  of  the 
various  qualities  and  relations  of  material  things, 
form  correct  ideas  of  the  value  of  property,  and  make 
good  bargains.  Had  your  attention  been  turned 
in  that  direction,  your  constructiveness  is  so  great 
that  you  would  be  successful  in  conducting  mechani- 
cal operations.  As  it  is,  the  temptation  is  always 
upon  you,  to  re-arrange  and  improve  your  plays. 
You  are  not  apt  to  be  satisfied  with  what  has  been 
done  even  by  the  best  of  authors.  I  needn't  tell  you,  or 
the  company,  that  you  are  quick  of  observation,  and 
have  a  matter-of-fact,  common-sense  tact,  which  makes 
you  adaptive,  in  almost  any  of  the  circumstances  of 
life  by  which  you  may  be  surrounded.  Without 
seeming  to  do  so,  you  observe  every  little  thing  which 
people  say  and  do  ;  are  quick  to  perceive  beauty,  per- 
fection, deformity.  Have  a  keen  eye  for  colors,  and 
a  good  memory  of  streets,  localities,  and  places 
Your  location  of  names  and  dates  is  only  moderate, 
hence  I  fancy  that  you  keep  a  note-book  as  a  matter 
of  self-defense." 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  203 

"Bless  your  soul  !"  said  Mr,  Sothern,  "if  that  were 
not  the  case  I  should  quickly  be  swamped  !" 

The  Sculptor. — Right  in  this  group  of  organs  on 
which  I  have  my  hand,  is  one  which  is  singularly 
large.  I  refer  to  that  which  expresses  order,  method, 
system,  arrangement.  There  are  few  men  who  ob- 
serve business  rules  more  strictly  than  yourself.  You 
are  particular  to  a  fault,  and  frequently  take  more 
pains  in  keeping  things  around  you  in  order  than  that 
order  is  absolutely  worth.  I  think  this  faculty  is 
more  inherent  than  acquired.  Had  you  been  a  busi- 
ness man — I  mean  by  that  a  merchant,  engineer,  or 
builder  of  any  kind,  you  would  have  been  almost 
painfully  oppressive  to  those  around  you  by  demand- 
ing the  most  punctilious  observance  of  your  rules. 
This  same  sense  of  propriety  characterizes  you  on  the 
stage  and  during  rehearsals.  Unless  everything  is 
exactly  correct  you  are  dissatisfied  and  will  make 
your  company  go  over  and  over  again,  the 
lines  they  have  to  say,  until  every  word  is  in  its 
right  place,  and  every  act  done  in  conformity  with 
what  you  conceive  to  be  the  requirements  of  the 
piece. 

"  That's  very  curious,"  said  Mr.  Sothern.  "  Did 
you  ever  see  me  at  rehearsal  ?" 

"  No  ;"  replied  the  sculptor,  "  but  if  there  is  any 
one  thing  about  your  head  that  is  truthful,  it  is  this. 
I  am  only  telling  you   what  science  says  and  what 


204  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

the  conformation  and  combination  of  your  head  indi- 
cate." 

Mr.  Sothern. — You  couldn't  be  more  exact  in 
your  observation  if  you  were  one  of  my  stage  friends, 
for  if  there  is  anything  that  I  do  demand  in  my  pro- 
fession, it  is  the  utmost  nicety  in  the  rendition  of  the 
respective  parts  ;  still  I  don't  think  I  am  so  bad  as 
Mr.  Forrest  was  on  one  occasion,  when  the  property 
man  failing  to  have  some  blood  at  hand  which  had  to 
be  used  in  the  part,  the  tragedian  exclaimed,  "  Damn 
you,  no  blood  !  S'death  !  I  will  make  some,"  and 
with  that  he  cracked  him  on  the  nose  and  drew  a 
copious  supply  from  nature's  own  font,  then  rubbing 
his  hands  in  the  gore,  rushed  on  the  stage. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Phrenologist,  you  were  speaking 
a  minute  or  two  ago  about  my  bump  of  locality,  and 
you  made  a  mistake.  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  man  in 
this  room  who  loses  himself  so  quickly  as  I  do.  You 
may  think  it  very  strange,  but  if  I  have  lost  myself 
once  between  Delmonico's  and  the  Gramercy  Park 
Hotel,  I  have  done  so  a  dozen  times.  The  other  night, 
for  instance,  I  wandered  round  the  adjoining  square, 
coming  out  at  the  same  place  every  time,  without 
the  slightest  knowledge  of  where  I  was,  and  if  a 
friendly  policeman  hadn't  put  me  on  the  right  track,  I 
believe  I  should  have  been  going  around  until  day- 
light." 

"  Wine  and  woodcock !"  suggested  the  judge. 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  205 

"  No  ;"  said  the  phrenologist,  "  it  is  not  due  to  a 
deficiency  in  your  organ  of  locality,  but  to  the  fact 
that  your  concentrativeness  is  largely  developed,  and 
you  were  absorbed  in  thought.  I  can  well  understand 
that  you  might  lose  yourself  in  broad  daylight  when 
so  engaged.  Upon  the  whole,  Mr.  Sothern,  I  should 
say  that  you  were  naturally  absent-minded.  Your  lit- 
erary faculties  are  fair,  though  I  can't  say  that  you 
have  a  passion  for  literary  pursuits.  Your  memory  is 
retentive,  and  is  an  unusually  large  cupboard  of  events 
in  which  humor,  wit,  and  mirthfulness  are  principally 
stored.  A  pun  would  strike  you  with  more  force  than 
a  pious  jest.  If  time  pennitted  you  to  work  in  such 
a  direction,  you  would  excel  in  fiction.  In  fact,  you 
have  a  good  general  memory,  by  which  I  mean  one 
that  retains  anecdotes,  particulars,  friends,  the  general 
appearance  and  conversation  of  those  friends,  and  the 
ability  to  associate  them  with  facts  that  may  have 
transpired." 

The  Judge. — Seriously  speaking,  what  do  you 
mean  by  memory  ?  Is  it  a  thing  ?  Has  it  a  material 
existence  ? 

The  Artist. — No.  It's  a  principle  growing  out  of 
a  mysterious  Combination  of  the  human  faculties. 
You  inhale  an  odor,  for  instance,  or  hear  a  strain  of 
melody,  or  catch  a  passing  expression  of  a  face,  and 
it  at  once  recalls  associations  that  have  been  buried  in 
the  cells  of  the  brain  perhaps  half  a  generation,  or 


2o6  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

even  since  babyhood.  I  know  in  my  own  case  (and  I 
presume  it  is  true  of  every  one  else),  that  in  the  most 
sudden  and  mysterious  manner,  events  and  incidents 
that  occurred  while  I  was  yet  behind  a  pinafore  have 
re-appeared  to  me  in  my  latter  years  with  a  vividness 
that  was  almost  startling. 

The  Judge. — Is  it  not  true  then  that  the  mind  is 
like  a  photographic  negative  which  once  having  re- 
ceived its  picture  retains  the  object  with  a  possibility 
of  reproduction  by  the  mere  accident  of  association  at 
any  time  through  life? 

Mr.  SoTHERX. — Gentlemen,  look  here;  you're  getting 
into  metaphysical  depths,  for  it  is  one  of  those  things 
no  fellow  can  find  out. 

The  Artist. — Just  one  minute,  gentlemen.  There 
is  another  phase  to  that  question.  All  life  consists  of 
motion.  As  the  pebble  dropped  into  the  ocean  pro- 
duces a  ripple  that  never  dies,  as  the  passage  of  our 
bodies  through  the  air  stirs  its  molecules  into  never 
ending  motion,  may  it  not  be  equally  true  that  these 
very  thoughts  and  impressions  of  which  we  have  been 
speaking,  no  matter  whether  they  found  expression  at 
the  birth  of  civilization  or  later  on,  will  sometime  and 
somewhere  be  reproduced  upon  life's  great  photo- 
graphic plate,  so  that  in  the  great  uncertain  future  we 
may  perhaps  hear  even  the  sounds  of  the  clashing 
swords  at  Marathon  ! 

Mr.  McCullough  at  this  juncture  remarked  that  he 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  207 

was  "not  doing  heavy  tragedy  just  no\r,"  and  taking 
his  hat  excused  himself,  with  very  evident  signs  of 
disgust. 

"  Now  go  on,  Mr.  Phrenologist,"  said  Sothem. 

Phrenologist. — Let  me  see  ;  what  were  we  talking 
about  V  Oh  !  your  memory.  Well,  as  Bardwell  Slote 
would  say,  N.  C.  —  nuff  ced.  Time  and  tune  are 
tolerably  good  with  you,  but  you  are  not  by  any 
means  an  intuitive  musician;  you  appreciate  tender  and 
sympathetic  music  more  than  that  which  is  classical. 
You  would  rather  hear  the  familiar  songs  you  heard 
at  your  mother's  knee,  played  upon  a  street  organ, 
than  listen  to  one  of  Beethoven's  symphonies  rendered 
by  the  most  magnificent  orchestra  in  Christendom. 
Your  susceptibilities  are  so  fine  in  this  respect  that  you 
are  tormented  by  discord.  As  I  said  before,  however, 
you  show  more  taste  than  skill.  In  language  you  are 
very  expressive,  fluent,  and  copious,  gesticulate  natur- 
ally but  not  much,  and  are  at  times  spontaneously 
eloquent. 

Mr.  Sotherx. — That's  a  mistake.  Let  it  get  out- 
side this  room,  and  they  would  have  me  making 
speeches  on  every  stage  and  at  every  dinner-table  in 
the  land.     I  am  never  eloquent. 

The  Artist. — Then  Providence  has  made  a  mis- 
take in  your  head.  Perhaps  you  don't  believe  that 
you  are  a  good  critic,  but  you  are.  There  are  few 
men  who  can  better  analyze,  illustrate,  classify,  com- 


2o8  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

pare,  or  draw  inferences,  than  you  can.  Ton  have  a 
nice  power  of  discerning  new  truths,  influences, 
possibilities  and  effects,  especially  in  connection  with 
your  profession,  hence,  by  reason  of  your  constructive- 
ness  and  ideality,  you  create  originals  of  character 
which  no  one,  that  I  am  aware  of,  has  yet  been  able  to 
imitate.  As  a  case  in  point,  I  recall  the  manner  in 
which  you  re- wrote  the  love  scene  in  Tom  Robertson's 
comedy,  which  was  the  subject  of  some  correspond- 
ence a  little  while  ago  ;  and  also  portions  of  David 
Garrick,  and  the  Crushed  Tragedian. 

Judge. — Yes  ;  and  Dundreary,  too. 

"  Yes,"  added  the  sculptor,  "  and  it  illustrates  the 
correctness  of  my  conclusions,  to  wit  :  that  by  reason 
of  this  nicety  of  comprehension  added  to  strong  indi- 
viduality, concentrativeness,  large  language,  and 
poetic  sensibilities,  you  can  frequently  improve  upon 
and  refine  that  which  has  come  from  a  master  hand." 

"By  the  way,"  said  the  judge,  "speaking  about 
Ned's  inventiop,  did  you  ever  hear  about  his  dog 
Wasp,  who  had  the  habit,  peculiar  to  all  the  species, 
of  being  exceedingly  inquisitive  with  reference  to 
their  neighbors  ?  Ned  at  last,  becoming  annoyed  at 
the  persistence  of  this  canine  investigation,  one  day 
went  into  a  store  and  ordered  a  leather  muzzle  to  be 
made  with  a  fine  cambric  needle  protruding  from  the 
snout.  You  can  imagine  the  rest.  That  little  terrier 
never  made  any  more  close  acquaintances.     In  three 


ABOUT   SOTHERN.  209 

days  there  wasn't  a  dog  in  the  neighborhood  but  knew 
"Wasp  to  his  entire  satisfaction,  and  the  moment  the 
brutes  saw  the  little  fellow  approach  would  stick  their 
tails  between  their  legs,  and  move  off  with  a  speed 
that  was  quite  as  astonishing  to  the  little  pup  as  it  was 
suggestive  that  at  some  time  or  other  they  had  been 
either  badly  scared  or  badly  hurt.  Even  after  the 
muzzle  had  been  removed  Wasp  languished  for  a  long 
time  from  the  want  of  friends  among  his  kind  ;  at  any 
rate  he  was  thoroughly  cured  of  his  familiarity." 

"  Yes,  I  have  taken  out  a  patent  for  that  invention," 
said  Mr.  Sothern. 

The  phrenologist  proceeded  : — 

"There  are  but  one  or  two  more  things  that  I 
desire  to  comment  upon,  and  then  we  will  suspend 
this  examination.  You  have  unusually  large  precep- 
tive faculties  and  form  a  correct  judgment  of  charac- 
ter almost  intuitively.  Generally,  you  trust  first 
impressions,  and  are  seldom  mistaken  in  men  or 
women.  You  notice  all  the  little  things  they  do 
when  least  suspected,  and  are  quick  to  observe  the 
slightest  exhibition  of  a  lack  of  refinement.  You 
take  more  kindly  to  those  who  are  delicate,  gentle  and 
graceful,  than  to  people  who  live  in  a  coarser  mould. 
I  think  you  like  to  study  character,  and  once  having 
made  a  friend  '  grapple  to  him  with  hooks  of  steel.' 
You  needn't  blush  when  I  tell  you  that  coupled  with 
this  peculiar  gift  is  the  disposition  to  be  thoroughly 


2IO  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

agreeable,  to  make  sacrifices  for  the  pleasure  of  those 
around  you,  to  conciliate  everybody,  and  to  wound 
only  when  in  your  judgment  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary, though  I  must  confess  that  at  times,  with  your 
imperious  nature,  the  hot  words  bound  to  your  lips 
occasionally,  and  cause  regrets  that  are  quite  as  pain- 
ful to  yourself  as  they  may  have  been  to  the  subject 
of  your  passion.     You  never  can  be  a  hypocrite." 

It  was  agreed  at  this  juncture  that  the  subject  of 
the  seance  had  been  sufficiently  diagnosed  and 
flattered,  and  by  common  consent  conversation  was 
diverted  into  other  and  less  personal  channels. 

APPEARANCES    ARE  OFTEN    DECEITFUL. 

"  What  makes  him  limp  so  ?  "  asked  an  acquaint- 
ance while  Sothern  was  personating  Dundreary  a  few 
weeks  ago.  The  reply  was  that  it  was  probably  to 
give  greater  effect  to  the  character  :  that,  in  fact,  "  it 
was  in  the  play."  Nine-tenths  of  the  people  believe 
that  he  makes  it,  and  had  it  not  been  for  Philadelphia, 
a  large  brewery  and  a  ferocious  dog,  the  secret  might 
have  never  been  discovered.  After  Sothern  ceased 
putting  his  trust  in  Providence  (R.  I.)  he  went  to 
Philadelphia.  Three  days  after,  he  was  walking 
through  one  of  the  streets  and  just  passing  a  large 
brewery  when  a  ferocious  dog  which  had  been  watch- 
ing his  slow  and  stealthy  approach,  sprang  towards  him 


ABOUT  SO  TITER  N.  211 

and  fastened  his  teeth  into  the  right  leg.  Half  a 
dozen  persons,  including  the  owner  of  the  dog,  imme- 
diately went  to  Sothern's  assistance,  and  after  a  long 
struggle  succeeded  in  getting  the  dog  away.  They 
expected  to  find  the  leg  severely  lacerated,  but  what 
was  their  surprise  when  they  found  the  leg  to  be  a 
cork  one!  Mr.  Wm.  J.  Florence  states  that  the  above 
is  a  true  story,  "  by  a  large  majority." 

HOW  MY  "LORD  DUNDREARY"  WAS  CAUGHT 
NAPPING  BY  THE  "MEMBER  FROM  COHOSH." 

A  number  of  boiis  comarades  sat  down  a  few 
months  ago  to  a  dinner  given  in  California,  to  Mr. 
Sothern.  W.  J.  Florence  was  one  of  the  party,  and 
relates  the  following  incident  : 

"  Sothern,  as  usual,  was  the  life  of  the  company,  and 
for  houi's  entertained  his  hearers  with  a  recital  of  his 
varied  accomplishments.  He  was  the  prophet  and  the 
guide  in  every  subject  broached,  and  evidently  con- 
sidered himself  a  very  '  Triton  among  the  minnows.' 
Painting  he  seemed  at  home  in.  He  had  sculpture  at 
his  fingers'  ends,  and  the  most  difficult  features  in  the 
fine  arts  or  the  practical  pursuits  of  labor  were  as 
nothing  to  this  animated  repository  of  general  know- 
ledge. He  had,  he  said,  studied  painting  for  long 
years  under  able  teachers  at  Naples  and  Dusseldorf, 
and  had  only  relinquished  his  seat  at  the  easel  when 


212  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

the  greatest  living  masters  pronounced  him  their  peer. 
He  spoke  familiarly  of  the  works  of  the  ancient 
Egyptians,  and  traced  the  styles  of  all  the  succeeding 
nations  down  to  the  present  day. 

"  In  a  little  while  the  subject  turned  to  war  and  its 
weapons,  and  Sothern,  to  the  surprise  of  all  present, 
appeared  well  versed  in  needle-guns,  destructive 
bomb-shells,  and  everything  pertaining  to  scientific 
slaughter.  War,  he  asserted,  was  familiar  to  him  in 
all  its  phases.  He  had  studied  gunnery  for  six  years 
at  Woolwich,  England,  and  had  in  later  years 
charged  the  enemy  through  clouds  of  smoke  and 
showers  of  lead  on  many  a  hard-fought  field.  While 
speaking  of  noted  military  heroes,  one  of  the  gentle- 
men present  pointed  to  a  bronze  statue  of  Napoleon, 
which  occupied  a  corner  on  the  mantel,  and 
Dundreary  immediately  launched  off  into  a  learned 
dissertation  on  the  legacies  of  beauty  and  art  which, 
coming  down  from  the  old  world,  still  exist  in  un- 
decaying  stone.  The  company  listened  in  astonish- 
ment as  he  told  of  his  long  researches  into  the  glories 
of  the  antique  sculpture  which,  unlike  the  paintings 
of  the  pagans,  were  not  born  to  die. 

"No  matter  what  topic  was  introduced,  Sothern 
seized  and  held  the  fort,  until  he  half  convinced  his 
auditors  that  ho  was  in  all  respects,  from  his  long 
years  of  study,  more  of  a  peer  than  a  vassal  in  his 
multitudinous  attainments.     Just  before  the  company 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  213 

broke  up,  however,  an  unexpected  denouement  came. 
Florence,  who,  like  *  Mr.  Burchell '  in  the  '  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,'  had  heen  listening  attentively  to  his 
friend's  remarkable  narrative,  noting  down  his  points 
now  and  then,  instead  of  exclaiming  "  fudge  "  with 
Goldsmith's  hero,  suddenly  asked  :  '  Ned,  may  I  ask 
how  old  you  are  ? ' 

"  '  Certainly,  my  dear  fellow,'  said  Sothern,  amid  a 
breathless  silence  among  the  guests.  '  On  my  last 
birthday  I  was  forty-four.' 

"  '  Oh,  indeed,'  replied  the  '  Member  from  Cohosh,' 
with  a  quizzical  expression  on  his  countenance,  'then 
I  must  have  made  a  mistake  in  my  reckoning.  I 
have  been  putting  down  the  number  of  years  you 
said  you  spent  in  acquiring  your  different  branches, 
and  I  make  your  age  exactly  ninety-six.' 

"  This  remark  brought  down  a  roar  of  laughter  on 
the  head  of  Dundreary,  who,  however,  not  at  all  dis- 
concerted, ordered  a  fresh  supply  of  champagne  to 
drink  the  health  of  his  friend  from  Cohosh." 

Some  two  mouths  after  the  above  occurrence,  at  a 
breakfast  given  by  Florence  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel,  New  York,  the  attention  of  the  company  was 
attracted  to  a  magnificent  set  of  Sevres  which  decora- 
ted the  table. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Sothern,  quickly,  "  I  recognize  at  a 
glance  this  set,  as  belonging  to  the  period  of  Louis 
XV.     Modern   Sevres   do   not    show   such   nicety   of 


214  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

color  or  finish."  He  then  began  to  tell  what  he  knew 
of  the  ceramic  art,  remarking  that  he  had  spent  some 
four  years  in  its  study.  Befoi*e  he  had  fairly  reached 
the  vitals  of  his  subject,  his  eye  fell  upon  the  "  Mem- 
ber from  Cohosh,"  who,  with  card  in  hand,  was  about 
to  repeat  his  note-taking.  Disconcerted  at  the  sight, 
for  several  who  attended  the  dinner  in  California, 
were  also  present  at  the  breakfast,  Sothern  stopped 
short  in  his  narrative,  and  made  the  best  of  a  bad 
bargain  by  exclaiming  :  "  Billy,  put  that  down  on 
your  card,  and  make  me  one  hundred  and  five  years 
old  at  once." 

Florence  took  him  at  his  word,  and  my  Lord 
Dundreary  vowed  that  he  would  never  display  his 
knowledge  again,  unless  assured  that  Florence  was  N. 
I.  T. — not  in  town. 

FUN    m    FRANCE. 

"  "When  we  went  to  Paris,"  said  Mr.  Raymond,  "  to 
play  the  '  American  Cousin '  the  only  lady  in  the  com- 
pany who  made  a  hit  was  the  one  who  performed  the 
part  of  May  Meredith.  In  it  she  had  two  dances,  which 
apparently  amused  the  gay  Frenchmen.  The  impres- 
sario  of  the  theatre  during  these  Terpsichorean  exer- 
cises used  to  sit  every  night  in  one  of  the  lower  boxes, 
and  watch  the  young  lady  with  a  great  deal  of  inter- 
est.    It  struck  Sothern  and  myself  that  it  would  bo 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  215 

an  excellent  opportunity  to  have  a  little  fun,  especially 
as  she  was  inclined  to  be  unnecessarily  conceited. 
Accordingly  we  had  letters  sent  from  every  little 
country  town  in  France,  offering  fabulous  amounts  to 
her  to  appear  as  an  English  soubrette  in  a  French 
part.  The  girl  had  these  letters  translated,  and  be- 
came so  airish  in  her  manner  to  all  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany as  the  result  of  the  flattering  attentions,  that  we 
could  really  do  nothing  with  her.  It  now  occurred  to 
us  that  it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea  to  have  a  letter  sent 
to  her  by  the  impressario,  which  was  accordingly 
done,  likewise  in  French  ;  at  the  same  time  a  letter 
writt  m  in  English  was  sent  to  him  purporting  to  come 
from  the  girl's  mother.  The  first  contained  an  offer 
to  adopt  and  give  her  a  French  education,  together 
with  a  life  long  engagement  on  the  French  stage  ;  the 
latter  informed  him  that  the  young  girl  was  not  ex- 
actly in  her  right  mind,  having  had  the  small  pox, 
and  that  if  he  engaged  her  he  must  take  unusual 
care  of  her  health,  see  that  she  retired  early  at 
night,  and  in  short,  be  to  her  a  fatherly  protector. 
The  Frenchman  had  this  letter  translated  and  was 
dumbfoundered.  He  at  once  sought  an  interview  with 
the  young  lady  on  the  stage,  and  a  more  laughable 
mixture  of  French  and  English  misunderstanding,  of 
odd  explanations,  and  angry  ejaculations,  and  gesticu- 
lations, you  never  witnessed.  On  the  one  hand  he 
tried  to  make    her    comprehend  that   he  had  never 


2i6  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

written  a  letter  to  her,  and  on  the  other  she  in- 
dignantly repelled  the  idea  that  her  mother  had  done 
anything  of  the  kind  to  him  because  the  old  lady  was 
dead,  and  she  herself  never  had  the  small  pox.  The 
complication  was  kept  up  for  two  or  three  days,  when 
we  got  our  agent  to  explain  the  joke  to  both  parties. 
The  girl,  however,  was  so  disgusted  and  so  thoroughly 
taken  down,  that  she  shortly  after  left  the  company 
and  never  attempted  to  play  an  English  ingenue  part 
in  France  again. 

DUNDREARY  IN  PARIS. 

"  I  think,"  remarked  Mr.  Raymond,  "  that  one  of  the 
most  amusing  incidents  during  our  stay  in  Paris  was 
that  which  occurred  during  the  performance  of  Dun- 
dreary, You  are,  perhaps,  aware  that  at  the  subsidy 
theatres  in  France,  no  fire,  not  even  a  lighted  match  is 
permitted  on  the  stage.  You  will  also  recall  the  fact 
that  in  one  part  of  the  play,  Asa  Tronchard  has  to 
burn  a  will.  In  order  to  comply  with  the  law  and  at 
the  same  time  get  rid  of  this  document,  I  was  com- 
pelled to  tear  the  will  instead  of  applying  the  match 
in  the  usual  way.  The  result  was  that  the  part  was 
not  at  all  a  success,  much  of  its  point  being  lost  by 
the  tameness  of  the  incident.  At  last  I  said  to 
Sothern,  *  I  have  a  great  mind  to  burn  the  thing  any- 
how and  take  the  chances.'    My  misfortune  was  in 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  217 

confiding  my  intention  to  Sothern,  for  he  instantly 
gave  instruction  to  one  of  the  gendarmes  who  was 
hovering  about  the  wings,  to  arrest  me  in  the  act. 
When  the  scene  came  on,  anticipating  no  trouble,  but 
expecting  on  the  contrary  to  receive  a  recall  as  I 
always  did  at  this  juncture,  I  struck  the  match  and 
lighted  the  paper.  Before  I  knew  anything  else  I 
was  seized  from  behind  by  a  big  gendarme  and  car- 
ried bodily  off  the  stage.  Of  course  the  audience  did 
not  know  what  was  to  pay,  and  I  was  equally  in  the 
dark.  Not  speaking  French  I  could  not  make  any  ex- 
planation, and  the  more  I  struggled  the  tighter  the 
gendarme  held  me  in  his  grip.  It  was  only  when  Mr. 
Sefton,  the  agent  of  Mr.  Sothern,  made  his  appearance 
and  explained  matters  that  I  was  released.  You 
should  have  then  seen  how  those  two  French  soldiers 
went  for  Sothern,  mad  as  hornets  at  being  imposed 
upon,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  disappeared  down 
the  back  stairs  into  a  convenient  hiding  place.  For- 
tunately Sefton  was  enabled  to  appease  the  indigna- 
tion of  the  irate  Frenchmen,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
Dundreary  was  permitted  to  come  out  of  his  retire- 
ment, and  the  play  went  on  happily  without  the  dis- 
comfiture of  the  audience. 


A    DESPERATE  AMERICAN. 

"  During  this  engagement  we  had  a  frightful  fight  one 
10 


2i8  TALKS    WITH,    AND 

night,  and  produced  a  corresponding  scare  among  the 
members  of  the  company.  The  celebrated  bill-poster 
of  Paris  and  London,  Willing,  by  name,  was  in  the 
green-room  and  made  some  remark  as  coming  from 
Sothern  concerning  me  which  I  purposely  construed 
into  a  most  grievous  insult.  Dashing  impetuously 
into  Sothern's  dressing-room,  which  was  just  off  the 
green-room,  I  demanded  in  a  loud  tone  that  could  be 
heard  by  everybody,  instant  satisfaction  or  his  life, 
■whispering  to  Ned  to  keep  up  the  joke.  Always  as 
quick  as  lightning  to  take  a  hint,  he  presently 
emerged,  kicking  me  out  of  his  apartment  into  the 
centre  of  the  now  thoroughly  alarmed  people  in  the 
green-room.  I  rushed  off  to  get  a  knife  swearing  ven- 
geance. Everybody  appealed  to  me  to  be  quiet  and 
tried  to  hold  me  back,  while  I  contended  that 
nothing  but  his  life's  blood  would  wipe  out  the  insult. 
Of  course  the  play  had  to  continue,  but  the  actors  were 
almost  afraid  to  go  on  the  stage,  looking  on  me  as  a 
wild  American  who,  with  bowie  knife  in  hand,  was 
about  to  commit  a  horrible  murder.  Meanwhile 
Sothern  had  quietly  sent  a  note  telling  me  to  slip  into 
his  dressing-room  again,  get  some  stage  blood  there, 
lock  the  door,  and  that  as  soon  as  he  came  off  we 
would  have  a  '  time.'  I  followed  the  instructions  and 
after  the  act  he  came  down  and  joined  me.  The  peo- 
ple in  the  green-room  were  on  the  alert,  and  between 
Ned  and  myself  we  gave  their  listening  ears  the  bene- 


ABOUT   SOTHERN.  219 

fit  of  a  full  chorus  of  moans,  groans,  imprecations, 
struggles,  and  other  sounds  of  distress  among  which 
every  now  and  then  ray  knife  could  be  heard  sticking 
into  some  conveniently  soft  substance  that  sounded 
very  like  a  human  body.  Willing,  whose  remarks  had 
been  the  cause  of  all  this  commotion,  frightened  almost 
to  death,  rushed  after  the  gendarmes.  When  the  lat- 
ter came  they  demanded  entrance  in  French.  A  low 
groan  was  the  only  response.  Believing  that  one  or. 
both  of  us  was  nearly  dead  they  burst  open  the  door. 
Willing  was  the  first  man  to  rush  in,  and  was  followed 
by  the  soldiers  and  such  of  the  company  as  were  not 
on  the  stage.  You  can  imagine  their  feelings  when 
they  saw  Sothern  and  myself  covered  with  blood  lying 
upon  the  floor,  with  the  gory  knife  near  by,  the 
entire  apartment  in  confusion  and  bearing  evidences 
of  a  desperate  struggle. 

"  '  Poor  fellow,'  said  one,  '  has  he  got  a  pulse  ?' 
'  He  must  be  dying,'  was  the  remark  of  another.  '  Go 
for  some  stretchers.'  'What  awful  fighters  these 
Americans  are  ! '  *  Don't  touch  the  blade  !'  and  other 
similar  expressions  were  also  to  be  heard. 

"  Willing,  with  a  horror-stricken  face,  stooped  over 
and  felt  of  Sothern.  Ned  partially  raised  his  head, 
and  feebly  whispered  :  *  A  glass  of  champagne, — 
quick.'  The  poor  bill-poster  didn't  stop  for  a  glass, 
but  knocked  off  the  neck  of  a  bottle,  and  in  his  haste, 
to  the  great  disgust  of  Dundreary,  nearly  choked  him 


2  20  TALKS    WITH,    AND 

to  death  as  he  poured  it  down.  At  this  instant  I  lifted 
my  head  in  the  same  way,  and,  in  a  faint  kind  of  way, 
ejaculated  '  Some  wine,  too  !'  Then  we  both  rose  up 
on  our  elbows  and  asked  for  more  wine,  and  from  that 
position  to  our  feet,  until  finally,  with  a  hearty  laugh 
at  the  success  of  our  joke,  we  invited  the  whole  party 
to  join  us  in  a  potation.  The  practical  gendarmes 
were  the  only  ones  who  didn't  see  any  fun  in  being 
*  sold '  in  this  manner,  although  they  took  their  share 
of  the  champagne,  and  I  think  that  some  of  the 
English  actors  themselves,  never,  to  this  day,  have 
learned  to  appreciate  the  pranks  of  the  two  Ameri- 
cans." 


THE   DUNDREARY  LETTER. 

On  the  occasion  of  one  of  the  conversaziones  at  a 
pleasant  dinner  party,  Mr.  Raymond  related  the 
following  incident  connected  with  the  Dundreary 
letter.  He  says :  "  It  was  written  by  Mr.  Sothern  in 
New  Orleans  while  waiting  for  the  cars,  the  first  draft 
being  hurriedly  made  on  his  knee  on  the  back  of  an 
envelope.  Sothern,  however,  was  dubious  with  ref- 
erence to  reading  it  for  the  first  time  in  so  large  a 
city  as  New  Orleans,  and  as  we  were  going  to  Mobile, 
he  determined  to  try  the  experiment  there  on  the 
occasion  of  my  benefit.  He  did  so,  and  its  success  was 
instantaneous.     He  was  recalled  three  times,  and  since 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  221 

then  the  reading  of  the  letter  has  been  one  of  the  chief 
features  of  the  famous  play." 

CONVERSATIONAL    QUICKNESS. 

Mr.  Horace  Wall,  the  well  known  dramatic  agent 
of  New  York,  speaking  of  Sothern's  conversational 
quickness  and  power  of  repartee,  gives  the  following 
illustrations  of  the  same  : 

"  One  day  while  on  Broadway  Mr.  Sothern  met  an 
old  friend  who  was  an  inveterate  tobacco  chewer,  and 
who,  if  the  remark  may  be  made  of  a  dirty  practice, 
was  not  a  neat  masticator.  The  sides  of  his  mouth 
were  usually  besmeared  with  saliva,  and  his  shirt  bosom 
for  a  brown  was  tolerably  white,  but  for  a  white  was 
frightfully  filthy.  The  two  friends  passed  the  com- 
pliments of  the  day,  when  Sothern,  as  he  was  about  to 
depart,  looking  at  his  companion's  shirt  front  and 
putting  his  finger  upon  a  centre  spot  as  if  he  wanted 
to  purchase  something,  drily  inquired,  'Old  boy! 
have  you  got  the  sleeve  buttons  to  match  that  ? ' 


"On  another  occasion  he  met  George  C ,  the 

friend  of  an  actor  who,  for  convenience  sake,  we  will 

call  Johnny  P ,  who  had  just  died,  and  from  whose 

funeral  George  was  returning.     The  latter  was  him- 
self in  a  very  feeble  condition   of    health    and   re- 


222  TALKS    WITH,    AND 

marked  :  '  "Well,  Ned,  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  my  turn 
next ;  the  doctors  tell  me  that  I  must  go  to  Florida, 
Havana,  Minnesota,  anywhere  in  fact  to  get  out  of 
this  horrible  climate.  Where  do  you  think  I  had 
better  go,  Ned  ?' 

"  SoTHEEN,  cheerfully. — '  Brace  up,  old  boy,  brace 
up  !  Never  entertain  the  blues.  The  best  thing  you 
can  do,  George,  is  to  go  round  to  the  club  with  me 
and  take  a  drink,  and  then  I'll  give  you  a  letter  to 
Johnny.' 

"  *  But  he  may  be  in  heaven.' 

" '  That's  the  very  reason,  my  dear  fellow,  why 
you'll  want  credentials.' 


"Fresh  young  actob  to  Sotherj?. — Mr.  S.,  if  I  had 
been  an  actor  as  long  as  you  have  I  should  by  this 
time  be  the  owner  of  two  brown  stones. 

"Sothern. — Certainly  you  would,  my  boy,  one  at 
your  head  and  the  other  at  your  feet. 


"  Sothem  during  the  last  summer,  having  hired  an 
attenuated  livery  stable  horse  for  a  drive  up  the  road, 
stopped  at  one  of  the  roadside  caravansaries,  and  while 
his  valet  was  covering  the  animal,  John  McCullough 
came  by. 

"  McCuLLOxJGH. — Ned,    what    do    you    put    that 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  225 

blanket  over  your  horse  for?  he  looks  too  weak  to 
bear  up  under  it. 

"  SoTHEEx. — Oh  !  That  is  to  keep  the  wind  from 
blowing  the  hay  out  of  him." 

SOTHERN    AND    THE    FIRE    TEST. 

A  writer  in  the  Chicago  Inter-  Ocean  communicates 
to  that  paper  under  date  of  March  20,  1878,  the  fol- 
lowing curiously  descriptive  article : 

"  Is  Mr.  Sothern  a  medium  ? 

"  This  is  the  question  that  fifteen  puzzled  investiga- 
tors are  asking  themselves  this  morning,  after  witness- 
ing a  number  of  astounding  manifestations  at  a  pri- 
vate seance  given  by  Mr.  Sothern  last  night. 

"It  lacked  a  few  minutes  of  12  when  a  number  of 
Mr.  Sothern's  friends,  who  had  been  given  to  under- 
stand that  something  remarkable  was  to  be  performed, 
assembled  in  the  former's  room  at  the  Sherman  House 
and  took  seats  in  a  circle  around  a  marble-top  table, 
which  was  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment.  On 
the  table  were  a  number  of  glasses,  two  very  large 
bottles,  and  five  lemons.  A  sprightly  young  gentle- 
man attempted  to  crack  a  joke  about  spirits  being 
confined  in  the  bottles,  but  the  company  frowned  him 
down,  and  for  once  Mr.  Sothern  had  a  sober  audience 
to  begin  with. 

"  There  was  a  good  deal  of  curiosity  regarding  the 
10* 


226  TALKS    WITH,    AND 

object  of  the  gathering,  but  no  one  was  able  to  ex- 
plain. Each  gentleman  testified  to  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Sothern's  agent  had  waited  upon  him,  and  solicited 
his  presence  at  a  little  exhibition  to  be  given  by  the 
actor,  not  of  a  comical  nature. 

"Mr.  Sothern  himself  soon  after  appeared,  and,  after 
shaking  hands  with  the  party,  thus  addressed  them  : 

"  *  Gentlemen,  I  have  invited  you  here  this  evening 
to  witness  a  few  manifestations,  demonstrations,  tests, 
or  whatever  you  choose  to  call  them,  which  I  have  ac- 
cidentally discovered  that  I  am  able  to  perform. 

"  *  I  am  a  fire-eater,  as  it  were.     [Applause.] 

"  '  I  used  to  dread  the  fire,  having  been  scorched 
once  when  an  innocent  child.     [A  laugh.] 

"  Mr.  Sothern  (severely) — *  I  hope  there  will  be  no 
levity  here,  and  I  wish  to  say  now  that  demonstra- 
tions of  any  kind  are  liable  to  upset  me,  while  demon- 
strations of  particular  kinds  may  upset  the  audience.* 

"  Silence  and  decorum  being  restored,  Mr.  Sothern 
thus  continued : 

" '  Thirteen  weeks  ago,  while  walking  up  Greenwich 
street,  in  New  York,  I  stepped  into  a  store  to  buy  a 
cigar.  To  show  you  there  was  no  trick  about  it,  here 
are  cigars  out  of  the  same  box  from  which  I  selected 
the  one  I  that  day  lighted.'  [Here  Mr.  Sothern 
passed  around  a  box  of  tolerable  cigars.] 

"  '  Well  !  I  stepped  to  the  little  hanging  gas-jet  to 
light  it,  and,  having  done  so,  stood  contemplatively 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  227 

holding  the  cigar  and  the  gas  jet  in  either  hand,  think- 
ing what  a  saving  it  would  be  to  smoke  a  pipe,  when, 
in  ray  absent-mindedness,  I  dropped  the  cigar  and 
put  the  gas-jet  into  my  mouth.  Strange  as  it  may  ap- 
pear, I  felt  no  pain,  and  stood  there  holding  the  thing 
in  my  mouth  and  puffing  until  the  man  in  charge 
yelled  out  to  me  that  I  was  swallowing  his  gas.  Then 
I  looked  up,  and,  sure  enough,  there  I  was  pulling 
away  at  the  slender  flame  that  came  from  the  glass 
tube. 

"  *  I  dropped  it  instantly,  and  felt  of  my  mouth,  but 
noticed  no  inconvenience  or  unpleasant  sensation 
whatever. 

"  '  "  What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?"  said  the  proprietor. 

" '  As  I  didn't  know  what  I  meant  by  it  I  couldn't 
answer,  so  I  picked  up  my  cigar  and  went  home. 
Once  there  I  tried  the  experiment  again,  and  in  doing 
so  I  found  that  not  only  my  mouth,  but  my  hands  and 
face,  indeed,  all  of  my  body,  was  proof  against  fire.  I 
called  on  a  physician,  and  he  examined  me,  and  re- 
ported nothing  wrong  with  my  flesh,  which  appeared 
to  be  in  its  normal  condition.  I  said  nothing  about 
it  publicly,  but  the  fact  greatly  surprised  me,  and 
I  have  invited  you  here  to-night  to  witness  a  few 
experiments.' 

"Saying  this,  Mr.  Sothern,  who  had  lit  a  cigar  while 
pausing  in  his  speech,  turned  the  fire  end  into  his 
mouth  and  sat  down,  smoking  unconcernedly. 


228  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

"  *  I  suppose  you  wish  to  give  us  the  fire-test,'  re- 
marked one  of  the  company. 

"  Mr.  Sothern  nodded. 

"  There  was  probably  never  a  gathering  more  dumb- 
foundered  than  that  present  in  the  room.  A  few 
questions  were  asked,  and  then  five  gentlemen  were 
appointed  to  examine  Mr.  Sothern's  hands,  etc.,  before 
he  began  his  experiments.  Having  thoroughly  washed 
the  parts  that  he  proposed  to  subject  to  the  flames, 
Mr.  Sothern  began  by  burning  his  arm,  and  passing  it 
through  the  gas-jet  very  slowly,  twice  stopping  the 
motion  and  holding  it  still  in  the  flames.  He  then 
picked  up  a  poker  with  a  sort  of  hook  on  the  end,  and 
proceeded  to  fish  a  small  coil  of  wire  from  the  grate. 
The  wire  came  out  fairly  white  with  heat.  Mr. 
Sothern  took  the  coil  in  his  hands  and  coolly  proceeded 
to  wrap  it  round  his  left  leg  to  the  knee.  Having 
done  so,  he  stood  on  the  table  in  the  centre  of  the  cir- 
cle and  requested  the  committee  to  examine  the 
wrappings  and  the  leg  and  report  if  both  were  there. 
The  committee  did  so,  and  reported  in  the  affirmative. 

"  While  this  was  going  on,  there  was  a  smile,  almost 
seraphic  in  its  beauty,  on  Mr.  Sothern's  face. 

"After  this  an  enormous  iron,  in  the  shape  of  a 
horseshoe,  was  brought  in,  and,  after  being  heated  red- 
hot,  was  placed  over  his  neck  and  shoulders  like  a  horse- 
collar,  where  it  cooled,  and  was  taken  off  without 
leaving  a  sign  of  a  burn. 


ABOUT  SOTHERN.  299 

*'As  a  final  test,  a  tailor's  goose  was  put  on  the 
coals,  and,  after  being  thoroughly  heated,  was  placed  in 
Mr.  Sothern's  chair.  The  latter  lighted  a  fresh  cigar, 
and  then  coolly  took  his  seat  on  the  goose  without  the 
least  seeming  inconvenience.  During  the  last  experi- 
ment IVir.  Sothern  sang  in  an  excellent  tone  and  voice, 
'  I'm  Sitting  on  the  Stile,  Mary.' 

"  The  question  now  is,  were  the  fifteen  auditors  of 
Mr.  Sothern  fooled  and  deceived,  or  was  this  a  genuine 
manifestation  of  extraordinary  power  ?  Sothern  is 
such  an  inveterate  joker  that  he  may  have  put  the 
thing  up  on  the  boys  for  his  own  amusement ;  but  if 
so,  it  was  one  of  the  nicest  tricks  ever  witnessed  by 
yours  truly, 

Onb  of  the  CojonxTEE. 

"  P.  S. — What  is  equally  marvelous  to  me  is  that  the 
fire  didn't  burn  his  clothes  where  it  touched  them,  any 
more  than  his  flesh.  P.  C. 

"  [There  is  nothing  new  in  this.  Mr.  Sothern  has 
long  been  known  as  one  of  the  most  expert  jugglers  in 
the  profession.  Some  years  ago  he  gained  the  soubri- 
quet of  the  'Fire  King.'  He  frequently  amuses  his 
friends  by  eating  fire,  though  he  long  ceased  to  give 
public  exhibitions.  Probably  the  success  of  the  ex- 
periments last  night  were  largely  owing  to  the  lemons 
present.  There's  a  good  deal  of  trickery  in  thos6 
same  lemons. — Editor  IifTEE-OcEAN.]" 


230  TALKS     WITH,     AND 


A  REPORTORIAL  INTERVIEW  ON  THE  SAME  SUB- 
JECT. 

"  I  presume,  Mr.  Sothern,  you  have  seen  the  clial- 
lenge  in  this  morning's  Inter-  Ocean.  Do  you  intend 
to  accept  it  ?" 

"  Well,"  replied  the  comedian,  with  a  rather  amused 
expression,  "  before  answering  your  question  allow  me 
to  ring  the  bell  and  ask  Mr.  Hurlbut  to  step  here  a 
moment." 

The  bell  was  touched,  and  a  few  minutes  later  the 
proprietor  of  the  Sherman  House,  looking  very  sleepy, 
and  attired  in  a  gorgeous  nightcap,  opened  the  door 
slowly  and  stood  irresolute  on  the  threshold. 

"Now,  look  here,  Sothern,"  he  said,  raising  his 
finger  threateningly,  and  emphasizing  every  word, 
"  none  of  your  practical  jokes  on  me  !  I  won't  have 
it.     At  this  hour  all  peaceably  disposed  cit — " 

"  See  here,  old  fellow,"  said  Sothern,  taking  him  by 
the  arm  and  gently  towing  him  into  the  room,  "  there's 
no  sell  here.  Too  serious  an  affair,  my  dear  boy, 
altogether  too  serious,  for  joking.  Look  here,  read 
that,"  he  said,  showing  the  challenge. 

Mr.  Hurlbut  read  the  challenge,  and  suggested  that 
he  didn't  see  how  it  concerned  him,  and  why  he 
should  be  dragged  out  of  bed  at  midnight. 

"  But,  Mr.  Hurlbut,"  urged  Sothern,  "  we  can't  pro- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  231 

ceed  with  this  thing  without  your  consent.  Have  you 
any  objection  to  my  giving  an  exhibition  of  the  fire 
test  in  these  parlors  ?" 

"Most  emphatically  I  have,"  responded  Mr.  Hurlbut. 
"  Why,  one  of  my  mantel-pieces  is  utterly  ruined  with 
the  marks  of  red-hot  horse-shoes,  that  tailors'  goose, 
and  other  infernal  pieces  of  iron-mongery  which  you 
used  the  other  night." 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  Sothern  was  beginning  in  a 
persuasive  tone,  when  Hurlbut  interrupted  : 

"  There's  no  use  talking,  Sothern  ;  I  positively 
refuse.  Aside  from  the  danger  of  fire  and  the  dam- 
age to  the  furniture  and  fixtures,  I  don't  want  my 
house  converted  into  a  resort  for  itinerant  ghosts." 

Sothern  paused  for  a  moment,  reflected,  and  pulled 
his  mustache. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  « I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll 
send  for  an  iron-monger  and  have  the  floor  plated 
with  boiler  iron,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  build  a  fur- 
nace in  the  centre  of  the  room.  I  merely  want  to 
make  the  test ;  I  don't  want  to  bet,  because  I'd  feel 
as  if  I  were  swindling  somebody.  I've  never  tried 
this,  but  I  feel  perfectly  sure  of  the  result." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  the  furnace  ?"  asked  the 
hotel  man. 

"  I  will  permit  myself,"  said  Sothern,  "  to  be  im- 
bedded in  a  mass  of  any  kind  of  fuel  my  challenger 
may  select — tar-barrels,  and  rosin  ad  lib.      Then  I 


a3a  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

will  allow  any  member  of  a  committee  to  apply  the 
torch." 

"Isn't  that  going  a  little  too  far,  Mr.  Sothern?" 
asked  the  writer. 

"  "W  ell,  I  may  be  mistaken,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  feel 
sure  of  the  result,  sure  of  it.  At  all  events,  I'll  give 
$10,000  to  any  charitable  fund  in  this  city  if  I  do  not 
come  out  unscathed." 

"  What !"  ejaculated  Hurlbut,  with  eyes  like  sau- 
cers. 

"  Provided,  my  boy,"  added  Sothern,  "  my  medium 
will  undergo  the  same  test  at  the  same  time — neither 
of  us  to  remain  in  the  furnace  more  than  fifteen  min- 
utes after  the  whole  mass  of  fuel  shall  be  in  flames, 
and  both  of  us  to  be  perfectly  nude." 

"  But,  I  say,  Sothern,"  said  Harry  Wall,  of  New 
York,  who  was  among  the  company,  "  that  won't  do, 
you  know  !  Your  antagonist,  you  know,  can't  consent 
to  that.  Wrap  a  sheet  around  you,  at  any  rate.  It 
won't  burn." 

Hurlbut  had  been  on  the  point  of  acquiescing  ;  but 
this  was  too  much  for  him.  He  drew  the  folds  of  his 
dressing-gown  tightly  around  him,  pronounced  an 
emphatic  veto  upon  the  whole  affair,  and  slid  from 
the  room. 

"  He  won't  have  it.  Well,  we'll  arrange  it  some- 
how," remarked  Sothern,  as  the  door  closed. 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  233 

"  How  did  yoii  discover  this  imperviousness  to  fire, 
Sothern  ?"  asked  Harry  Wall. 

"  Imperviousness  to  fire  is  good.  Just  as  stated  in 
last  Monday's  Inter-  Ocean.^' 

"  You  were  buying  a  cigar " 

"  Precisely,"  broke  in  Sothern.  "  In  a  fit  of  ab- 
straction I  let  the  cigar  drop,  and  the  shopman  caught 
me  swallowing  the  illuminated  oscillating  gas-jet ! 
This  was  many  years  ago,  however,  and  not,  as 
stated,  a  few  months  since." 

"  Have  you  ever  subjected  yourself,"  the  writer 
asked,  "to  other  tests  than  those  mentioned  in  the 
Inter-  Ocean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  played  six  weeks  in  Philadelphia  during 
the  exposition,  with  the  thermometer  in  my  dressing- 
room  at  128." 

"And  you  have  stood  other  warm  tests  from  the 
press  occasionally.  But,  seriously,  have  you  any  be- 
lief in  spiritualism  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  only  know  I  do  these  things,  but  how,  I 
can't  say." 

"  You've  heard  of  Bishop,  who  was  here  two  weeks 
ago  ?  He  offered  to  put  a  bar  of  steel,  heated  to  a 
white  heat,  on  his  shoulder,  and  place  on  top  of  it  a 
five-pound  weight." 

"  A  mere  nothing,  my  dear  fellow  ;  I'll  be  willing  to 
submit  to  that,  provided  the  money  goes  to  a  charity 


234  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

— say  to  a  lunatic  asylum  for  believers  in  the  super- 
natural." 

"  Have  you  ever  submitted  to  this  test  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  I've  done  more  than  that.  I've  had  cam- 
phene  poured  all  over  my  head  and  body  and  lighted. 
This  is  a  frequent  test  of  mine,  and  during  it  I  only 
feel  a  mild  warmth,  like  an  autumn  day.  But  all  this 
class  of  work  is  child's  play.  We  are  dallying  with 
the  topic  merely." 

"Your  power  in  this  line  is  new  to  the  people 
here." 

"  Used  to  do  it  in  Europe.  Remember  in  London — 
but  here,  look  at  this  scrap-book,  and  you'll  see  two 
or  three  accounts,"  said  the  Crushed  Tragedian,  plac- 
ing the  book  on  the  table. 

There  were  numerous  extracts,  some  flattering  and 
others  condemnatory.  Harry  Wall  was  asked  to  read 
them,  and  the  first  selected  was  a  cutting  from  a  Lon- 
don letter  to  a  very  sober,  conservative  Scotch  sheet 
called  the  Edinburgh  Evening  Courant.  Perhaps 
the  publication  of  this  will  give  a  better  idea  of  Mr. 
Sothern's  powers  than  any  elaborate  description. 
Here  it  is  : 

"  Spiritualism  has  been  a  prominent  theme  lately, 
and  some  mysterious  manipulations  given  by  Mr.  E. 
A.  Sothern  the  other  night,  before  a  party  of  gentle- 
men have  increased  the  interest.  At  the  city  house  of 
Sir  Michael  O'Toole,  last  Tuesday  evening  assembled 


ABOUT   SOTHERN.  235 

Mr.  F.  L.  Rush,  of  Lloyds  ;  Mr.  Wallace  Hoar,  mana- 
ger of  the  United  Service  Club  ;  Sir  John  Reed,  of 
the  Carleton  Club  ;  Mr.  J.  L.  Toole,  comedian  ;  Mr. 
Charles  Matthews,  comedian  ;  the  Rev.  Charles 
Eaton,  M.  A.,  and  Mr.  Mercer  Simpson,  of  the  Thea- 
tre Royal,  London.  In  the  presence  of  these  seven 
gentlemen  Mr.  Sothern  exhibited  the  possession  of 
powers  which,  to  any  but  an  observer  would  be  con- 
sidered simply  incredible.  Whether  they,  the  feats, 
were  performed  by  spiritual  or  material  agency,  re- 
mains a  profound  mystery,  the  celebrated  comedian 
refusing  to  enlighten  those  present.  A  few  of  the 
tricks — for  I  refuse  to  believe  they  were  more — may 
be  worth  recording.  An  ordinary  table  stood  in  the 
the  centre  of  the  room.  He  requested  the  seven 
gentlemen — by  the  way,  seven  appears  to  be  his 
favorite  number — to  go  into  the  next  room,  and  he 
would  guarantee  that  he  would  make  the  table  too 
heavy  for  their  combined  strength.  They  did  as  they 
were  requested.  When  they  returned  they  moved  it, 
but  it  was  with  the  greatest  effort  of  the  combined 
seven.  The  fact  that  it  was  moved  at  all  by  seven 
men's  strength  appeared  to  disappoint  Sothern.  The 
next  thing  he  did  was  to  ask  if  they  desired  the  piano 
moved  to  any  part  of  the  room.  It  was  a  remarkably 
heavy  instrument.  A  spot  was  designated,  and  the 
piano  began  waltzing  to  the  spot  to  the  'Mabel  Waltz,' 
played  by  some  means  or  other  upon  its  own  keys.     A 


236  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

few  tests  of  a  similar  nature  were  given,  when  Sothern 
disappeared  for  a  minute  or  so,  and  reappeared  in  his 
night-shirt.  'Gentlemen,'  said  he,  'I  will  give  you 
another  example.  If  any  of  you  will  open  the  window 
in  this  or  the  next  room,  and  partially  turn  down  the 
lights,  I  will  make  my  exit  at  one.  window,  and  while 
I  am  out  will  float  around  a  little  and  then  glide  into 
any  window  you  will  please  to  designate.  It  was 
agreed  to  try  the  test,  not  without  some  objection  on 
the  part  of  Sir  John  Reed  and  J.  L.  Toole,  who  feared 
for  the  life  of  their  friend.  Sothern  gently  bent 
forward  and  gracefully  floated  out  of  a  four-story 
window.  The  lights  had  been  turned  down,  but  they 
were  turned  up  again  in  time  to  see  him  entering,  feet 
first,  the  window  of  the  next  room.  Of  course  the 
thing  was  a  trick.  It  has  been  done  by  Hume,  though 
not  in  the  full  glare  of  gaslight.  He  never  touched 
the  windows  as  he  entered.  As  he  came  into  full 
view,  the  gaslight  gradually  died  away,  and  the  com- 
pany were  left  in  total  darkness." 

The  reading  of  the  above  made  the  company 
nervous  evidently.  As  soon  as  Harry  Wall  had 
ceased,  each  man  excused  himself  and  left  the  room. 

THE    DYING    ACTRESS. 

The  following  letter  to  the  editor  explains  itself: 
"  Dbab  Sir  : — I  understand  that   you  are  soon  to 


ABOUT   SOTHERN.  237 

issue  a  book  of  anecdotes  and  incidents  about  E.  A. 
Sothern,  the  actor.  Permit  me  to  add  one  which  will 
not  detract  from  the  fame  of  the  great  actor,  but 
rather  add  fresh  laurels  to  tis  crown.  In  looking 
over  the  morning  papers  some  time  since,  my  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  a  notice  in  one  of  them,  calling 
for  aid  in  behalf  of  a  *  poor  actress,  sick  and  in  need.' 
I  determined  to  call  in  person,  and  see  if  the  story  was 
true,  and  did  so.  She  lived  in  a  tenement  in  one  of 
our  crowded  streets.  Upon  entering  the  house  I 
noticed  a  handsome  carriage  in  front  of  the  door,  from 
which  a  man  was  taking  an  armful  of  variously  sized 
bundles.  These  he  carried  up-stairs,  and  I  said  to  my- 
self, some  good  angel  has  surely  responded  to  this  cry 
for  aid.  Climbing  up  the  ricketty  steps  and  entering 
the  musty  apartment,  everything  was  found  that 
could  exhibit  poverty  of  the  worst  kind.  Prone  upon 
a  rude  bed  was  the  sufferer,  a  pale,  haggard  woman, 
whose  features  were  pinched  with  hunger.  Standing 
near  her  and  in  the  act  of  raising  her  head  to  offer  a 
glass  of  wine,  was  a  tall,  elegant  looking  man,  in 
whose  blue  eyes  one  could  read  a  world  of  sweet  char- 
ities. He  laid  her  back  upon  her  pillow  as  tenderly 
as  a  woman  could  have  done,  and  finished  the  story  he 
evidently  had  been  reading  to  her.  Then,  after  taking 
the  parcels  from  the  man,  and  placing  them  within  the 
invalid's  reach,  he  put  a  slip  of   paper  in  her  hand 


238  TALKS     WITH,    AND 

and  wished   her  good-bye,  saying,  as  he  closed  the 
door,  *  I  will  send  you  a  nurse  as  soon  as  possible.' 

"  I  advanced  towards  the  sick  woman,  who  had  un- 
folded the  little  slip  of  paper  and  was  wiping  the 
tears  from  her  eyes,  and  said,  *  You  seem  to  have  a 
kind  friend.' 

"  *  A  kind  friend  !  ah,  more  ;  a  good  angel.  And 
who  would  think,  to  see  him  in  Lord  Dundreary,  that 
such  a  heart  was  concealed  beneath  that  exterior  ? ' 

" '  Why,  you  don't  say  that  is  the  man  I  have 
laughed  myself  sick  over  in  Dundreary  and  Brother 
Sam.' 

"*Yes,  that  is  Mr.  Sothern  the  actor,  and  a  kinder, 
truer  friend,  in  sunshine  or  in  sorrow,  does  not  exist. 
See  this  check  for  $50,  and  all  these  things  which  he 
has  brought  me  ;  and  I  am  only  one  out  of  many 
others  who  share  his  charities,  and  of  whom  the  world 
knows  naught.' 

"  Can  a  sermon  say  more  ? 

«Mes.  G.  W.  M." 

THE  LATE  GEORGE  HOLLAND. 

Mr.  Sothern  one  day,  while  recalling  some  of  his 
early  associations  with  the  old  actors,  turned  to  a 
worn  and  faded  manuscript  of  Mr.  George  Holland, 
in  which  are  detailed  the  following  interesting  remin- 
iscences of  that  dead  actor's  school  days.     They  have 


ABOUT   SOTHERN.  239 

never  before  been  published.  By  permission  of  Mr. 
Sothern  it  is  reproduced  here.     It  says  : 

"About  the  year  1806  I  used  to  attend  school  at 
Berharapstead,  Hertfordshire,  then  conducted  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Dupree. 

"  The  doctor  was  celebrated  for  his  whipping  pro- 
pensities, and  derived  great  pleasure  in  hearing  his 
victim  yell,  during  the  operation.  He  was  more 
lenient  to  one  who  did  so  lustily.  But  his  mode  of 
punishment  was  peculiar.  He  would  pace  the  floor, 
delivering  a  salutary  lecture  upon  the  offense  com- 
mitted, and,  every  time  he  passed  the  delinquent,  he 
administered  a  sharp  blow,  to  make  his  language  more 
impressive.  Holland  received  his  first  and  only  pun- 
ishment in  the  following  manner,  which  he  thus  re- 
lates : 

"  One  evening,  just  prior  to  bed-time,  the  outdoor 
fag  was  dispatched  through  a  secret  hole  in  the  fence, 
to  the  tavern,  for  fried  sausages,  and  I  was  deputed  to 
wait  in  the  yard,  having  previously  asked  leave  of 
absence  from  one  of  the  teachers,  to  receive  and  con- 
vey them  to  our  bedroom.  Just  on  the  stroke  of 
nine  the  boy  returned,  carrying  the  sausages,  smoking 
hot,  in  a  platter  covered  with  a  clean,  white  napkin, 
handed  them  to  me,  and  rushed  into  the  school-room. 
I  was  sloAvly  following,  when  the  door  was  shut  and 
bolted  in  my  face.  I  listened  a  moment,  and  then 
heard  the  doctor  calling  the  roll.    Feeling  secure  from 


240  TALKS    WITH,    AND 

punishment  in  the  knowledge  that  I  had  leave  of  ab 
sence  from  the  teacher,  my  only  anxiety  was  to  smug- 
gle in  the  sausages.  A  happy  idea  struck  me.  I 
rolled  the  napkin  tightly  around  both  platter  and 
sausages,  slipped  them  under  ray  jacket  up  ray  back, 
knocked  boldly  at  the  door,  was  admitted,  and  took 
my  seat  at  one  of  the  writing-desks.  In  a  few  raoments 
I  became  very  uneasy  ;  I  felt  the  hot  gravy  running 
down  my  back,  and  fancied  I  could  smell  the  savory 
odor.  I  was  not  mistaken,  for  presently  the  doctor 
began  to  'sniff,'  ' sniff,' ' sniff,' very  suspiciously.  He 
approached  the  school-room  door,  opened  it,  and  again 
exercised  his  olfactories,  at  the  same  time  observing 
to  one  of  the  teachers  that  there  was  a  *  strong  smell 
of  cooking  somewhere.'  The  odor  became  so  great 
that  there  was  a  general  sniflSng  among  the  boys,  and 
I  could  hear  the  whispered  exclamations  :  'I  smell 
it ;'  '  So  do  I ;'  '  Don't  it  smell  prime  ?'  etc.  The  doc- 
tor, failing  to  trace  the  cause  from  which  the  deli- 
cious perfume  came,  closed  the  door,  and  returned. 
As  he  passed  my  desk,  he  suddenly  halted,  and  giving 
a  long  sniff,  exclaimed  :  '  Bless  me  !  the  smell  is  very 
strong  hereabout.' 

"  Whether  my  guilty  looks  betrayed  me  I  don't  know, 
but  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me.  The  doctor,  suppos- 
ing I  had  something  contraband  in  my  lap,  leaned  over 
to  see,  in  which  act,  to  assist  himself,  he  placed  his 
right  hand  upon  the  next  boy's  shoulder,  and  his  left 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  .  241 

directly  upon  the  sausages  under  my  coat.  I  wi'ithed 
terribly,  for  the  pressure  was  exceedingly  painful  upon 
the  blistered  skin.  He  quickly  withdrew  his  hand, 
lifted  up  my  jacket,  drew  forth  our  prospective  sup- 
per, placed  it  upon  the  desk,  opened  the  saturated 
napkin,  and  gazed  a  moment  in  silence.  Then  the  an- 
ticipation of  pleasure  he  was  about  to  receive  in  the 
indulgence  of  the  rod  made  him  facetious.  *  So,'  said 
he, '  here  is  a  pattern  of  a  Greek  scholar.  Not  satisfied 
with  learning  the  language,  he  must  also  live  in  grease 
(Greece).'  There  was  a  general  titter  among  the  boys, 
which  was  suddenly  stopped  by  the  doctor  exclaiming 
in  loud  tones,  '  Take  him  up  !  Take  him  up  !  I'll  exe- 
cute a  map  of  "  Greece  "  for  him.'  I  was  mounted  upon 
the  back  of  a  lad  in  a  twinkling  ;  the  doctor  flourished 
his  rod,  and  brought  it  down  with  a  hearty  will.  Re- 
membering his  leniency  towards  shouting  boys,  and 
having  excellent  lungs,  I  roared  louder  than  any  boy 
ever  did  before.  It  being  nine  o'clock  and  a  quiet 
evening,  it  was  said  they  heard  my  cries  over  the  entire 
village.  I  imagine  that  recollections  of  my  dreadful 
roaring  ever  after  saved  me  from  punishment,  for  the 
doctor  got  finely  rated  for  cruelty  to  his  scholars,  by 
the  villagers  who  heard  my  yells.  While  I  remained 
in  school,  I  was  frequently  pointed  out  by  the  scholars 
as  the  '  great  traveller  ;  one  who  had  been  all  over 

grease.' " 

11 


242  TALKS     WITH,    AND 


THE     BARON     OF     BIRlVimGHAM. 

Mr.  Sothem  also  related  the  following  incident  in 
connection  with  the  above  : 

In  May,  1817,  George  Holland  was  engaged  by 
R.  W.  Elliston,  then  the  manager  of  the  theatre  at 
Birmingham.  Holland's  salary  was  fifteen  shillings 
per  week,  he  having  at  this  time  but  little  experience 
as  an  actor.  His  first  appearance  during  this  engage- 
ment, happened  as  follows : 

The  opening  pieces  were  "  Bertram,"  and  "  The 
Broken  Sword."  Holland  was  cast  for  one  of  the 
monks  in  "  Bertram,"  and  the  Baron  in  the  "  Broken 
Sword."  After  reading  the  parts,  he  went  to  Mr. 
Brunton,  and  stated  that  he  was  quite  a  novice  in  the 
profession,  having  only  played  two  comic  parts  at  the 
Olympic,  and  felt  that  he  could  not  play  the  parts 
assigned  to  him,  either  with  credit  to  the  establish- 
ment, or  pleasure  to  himself,  being  convinced  that  if 
he  had  any  ability  for  the  stage,  it  was  quite  in  an- 
other line  of  business. 

Mr.  Brunton  replied  :  "  I  know  nothing  of  your  en- 
gagement, or  your  theatrical  abilities  ;  you  must  do 
the  best  you  can  with  them,  for  I  shall  not  alter  the 
cast."  Finding  it  useless  to  argue  the  subject,  Mr. 
Elliston  being  absent,  he  concluded  to  take  Mr.  Br  un- 
ion's advice,  and  do  the  best  he  could  until  Mr.  Ellis- 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  243 

ton's  return  ;  and  then  have  a  full  understanding 
respecting  the  particulars  of  his  engagement. 

The  following  is  Holland's  description  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  personated  those  characters  :  "  I 
studied  the  j^arts  of  the  Monk  and  the  Baron,  but  had 
not  a  single  theatrical  property.  Bodie  told  me  he 
would  get  the  wardrobe-keeper  to  select  the  dresses, 
and  he  would  assist  me  at  night.  This  he  failed  to  do, 
but  requested  a  gentleman  who  played  one  of  the 
Monks,  and  shared  my  room,  to  aid  me  in  dressing. 
The  latter  did  so,  and  I  flattered  myself  that  I  made  a 
fair  appearance,  and  got  through  the  performance 
without  particular  fault.  The  gentleman  who  played 
the  first  Monk,  said  I  had  a  very  good  voice,  but  my 

articulation  was  so  d d  bad  he  could  only  make 

out  a  word  here  and  there.  This  was  correct,  for  I 
remember  speaking  in  what  I  called  my  tragedy  voice, 
a  deep  tone.  '  Bertram '  being  a  tragedy,  I  thought  it 
requisite,  and  not  being  perfect  in  the  lines,  I  didn't 
stick  for  words,  but  kept  '  wha-whaing '  some  ram- 
bling deep  tones,  until  I  gave  the  cue,  which  I  took 
care  to  remember.  This  was  the  cause  of  the  gentle- 
man's remarks. 

"After  the  play  I  hurried  to  my  room  to  prepare  for 
the  Baron.  I  found  a  queer-looking  dress,  red  stock- 
ings, and  an  old  pair  of  russet  shoes  with  large  white 
rosettes  lying  on  my  table.  I  had  to  stuff  the  shoes 
to  keep  them  on  my  feet.      My  friend    the    Monk 


244  TALKS     WITH,     AND 

dressed  me,  completing  the  costume  with  a  large  ruff 
around  my  neck  ;  then,  surveying  me  from  head  to 
foot,  exclaimed :  '  There,  my  boy !  that's  the 
ticket !  now  for  your  mug — sit  down  and  I'll  paint 
you  a  prime  .old  man's  face.'  For  all  this  attention 
of  course  I  felt  grateful.  Another  gentleman  dress- 
ing in  the  same  room,  said  he  would  hear  me  repeat 
the  part,  while  my  face  was  being  painted,  for  which 
offer  I  kindly  thanked  him,  feeling  rather  dubious 
about  being  perfect.  While  my  artistic  friend  was 
Mining'  my  face  (as  it  is  termed)  he  would  thus 
comment  upon  it,  occasionally,  stepping  back  to 
observe  the  effect. 

"  *Ah,  that's  it ;  another  line  just  here  ;  there  !  now 
then,  a  dark  shade  for  the  hollow  cheeks,  that's 
capital,  ain't  it,  Bill  ? '  appealing  to  the  gentleman 
who  was  hearing  me  recite  my  part.  '  It  will  have  a 
good  effect  at  a  distance.  Now  for  your  wig,'  which 
he  stuck  on  my  head,  without  my  seeing  it.  I  felt  it 
was  too  small,  and  told  him  so,  but  he  still  kept 
tugging  at  it,  with  the  remark :  '  Why !  what  a 
thundering  thick  head  you've  got ;  ha !  a  little  of 
your  hair  seen — soon  settle  that  ! '  and  he  rubbed  the 
whitening  ball  all  around  the  edge  of  it,  to  cover  the 
hair,  and  make  it  agree  with  the  wig.  '  There,  that's 
it !  look  Bill,  how  well  the  wig  assimilates  with  the 
face.     Prime,  isn't  it  ? ' 

"  Having  now  finished,  I  asked  him  for  the  looking 


ABOUT    SOT  HERN.  245 

glass,  that  I  might  see  myself.  He  said  that  Mr. 
Elliot  had  just  taken  the  glass  with  him,  as  some  of 
the  dressing-rooms  were  not  furnished  with  all  the 
requisites. 

" '  You're  all  right,  however,  my  boy,  there's  no  need 
of  a  glass,  and  there  goes  the  curtain  bell.  Better 
get  to  your  post,  ready  to  go  on.' 

"  The  dressing-room  was  under  the  stage,  and  on 
my  way  to  the  first  wing,  I  could  hear  the  dialogue 
on  the  stage.  Not  wishing  to  be  bothered  by  any 
observation  before  I  went  on,  I  paused  and  repeated 
my  part,  until  the  time  arrived  for  me  to  be  at  the 
wing  ;  then  up  I  went. 

"  Mr.  Brunton,  the  stage  manager,  who  played  Ester- 
ven,  was  standing  in  the  entrance  ;  as  soon  as  he  saw 
me  he  started,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  *  My  God  !    who  are  you  ?' 

"His  manner  and  question  rather  confused  me, 
but  I  replied  faintly  :  '  I'm  the  Baron.' 

" '  The  Baron  ?  the  devil !'  said  he.  *  "NYhat  on  earth 
do  you  look  like?  You  can't  go  on  the  stage,  sir. 
That  figure—' 

"Just  then  Mr.  Elliot,  who  played  Claudie,  linked 
his  arm  in  mine,  saying  :  *  Holland,  that's  our  cue,'  and 
dragged  me  on  the  stage,  where  we  were  greeted  with 
a  roar  of  laughter,  such  as  I  never  heard  equalled. 
This  reception,  with  Mr.  Brunton's  furious  manner 
of  speaking  to  me,  drove  all  recollection  of  my  part 


246  TALKS    WITH,    AND 

out  of  my  head.  However,  I  proceeded  to  say  some- 
thing, amid  a  chorus  of  hilarious  remarks  such  as 
'Beautiful,'  'Go  it,  Wigsby !'  'Bravo,  bravo,'  &c. 
When  the  noise  somewhat  subsided,  a  fellow  in 
the  gallery  roared  out  in  a  serious,  sepulchral  voice, 
'  Take  in  your  legs,  young  Baron.'  This  settled  me, 
and  I  dashed  off  the  stage,  ran  to  my  dressing-room, 
crammed  my  shoes,  stockings,  cap,  and  all  the  small 
articles  into  a  carpet  bag — threw  my  cloak  over  my 
head  and  shoulders,  and  bolted  from  the  theatre  amid 
shouts  of  '  Stop  him  !  stop  him  !'  But  I  didn't  stop 
until  safely  domiciled  in  my  own  room.  There, 
throwing  off  my  cloak  and  dashing  clothes  and  bag 
on  the  floor,  I  sank  into  a  chair  exhausted,  feeling  a 
sort  of  choking  sensation  in  my  throat,  and  moisture 
in  my  eyes.  After  a  while,  getting  a  little  more  com- 
posed, I  took  a  look  at  myself  in  the  glass  ;  when, 
notwithstanding  my  vexation,  I  couldn't  help  bursting 
into  an  immoderate  fit  of  laughter,  for  of  all  the  '  Guys' 
I  ever  beheld,  my  appearance  was  the  most  ridiculous. 
No  part  of  the  dress  had  the  least  appearance  of  pro- 
priety— my  face  was  nothing  but  a  mass  of  black, 
white  and  red  lines,  immense  black  eyebrows,  with 
glaring  red  forehead — a  kind  of  pantaloon's  dirty 
white  wig,  with  high  top  knot,  and  side  curls  frizzed 
oat  to  a  point,  making  the  wig  in  the  shape  of  a  tri- 
angle, with  a  large  black  tail  sticking  out  behind.  The 
wig  was  just  stuck  upon  the  top  of  my  head,  with  a 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  247 

broad  band  of  chalk  around  it,  to  cover  my  own  black 
hair,  which  was  quite  prominent.  I  gazed  at  my- 
self some  time,  exclaiming  :    '  I'm  the  Baron,  am  I  ? 

Yes,  I'm  the  Baron — and  a  d d  handsome  Baron  I 

am  !'  The  following  morning  I  sent  all  the  various 
parts  of  the  Baron's  dress  to  the  theatre,  determined 
not  to  go  there  until  Mr.  Elliston  arrived.  The  boy 
returned  and  said  that  my  name  was  chalked  up  in 
large  letters  on  the  walls  all  about  the  stage  door. 
'Holland,  the  Baron  of  Birmingham.'  That  settled 
me,  and  I  '  took  in  my  legs '  with  a  determination 
never  to  let  them  be  seen  in  that  part  of  England 
again.  It  was  months  before  I  heard  the  last  of  the 
joke." 

FAREWELL  BEXEFIT  AND  SPEECH  IN  NEW  YORK. 

On  the  occasion  of  his  last  appearance  in  New  York, 
the  great  audience  present  attested  their  appreciation 
of  Mr.  Sothern  by  frequently  calling  him  before  the 
curtain.  He  was  eventually  obliged  to  make  two 
speeches,  and  with  the  reproduction  of  one  of  these, 
the  present  volume  is  concluded. 

In  his  first  one  he  merely  stated  that  he  had  care- 
fully written  a  long  and  most  interesting  speech,  but 
that  unfortunately  he  had  lost  it  and  begged  leave  to 
go  and  look  for  it,  as,  not  having  memorized  it,  he 
hadn't  the  ghost  of  an  idea  what  it  was  all  about.     On 


248  TALKS    WITH,    AND 

the  conclusion  of  "  The  Crushed  Tragedian "  he  was 
again  recalled,  and,  pretending  to  be  intensely 
nervous,  said  : 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I'm.  blessed  if  I  can  find 
that  speech.  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  remember  the 
beginning,  but  I'll  try  the  middle  or  the  end,  and 
wander  about  it,  if  you'll  kindly  give  me  rounds  of 
applause  whenever  it  strikes  you  as  singularly  bad. 
The  good  points  will  take  care  of  themselves — at  least, 
I  hope  so.  This  is  the  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
sixth  performance  I  have  given  on  this  stage. 
Eighty-four  times  have  I  appeared  in  '  The  Crushed,' 
which  piece  I  was  obliged  to  withdraw  from  the  bills 
owing  to  a  severe  sore  throat.  By  the  way,  you  know 
all  this,  but  I'll  gradually  arrive  at  a  point.  All  I 
ask  is,  as  prize  fighters  say,  '  Time  ! '  Mr.  Byron  has, 
in  *  The  Crushed,'  most  cleverly  and  good  naturedly 
satirized  the  old  school  of  provincial  tragic  acting, 
and  has  kindly  allowed  me  to  *  build  up '  the  part  of 
Fitzaltamont,  and  make  a  special  study  of  it.  I  have 
succeeded  beyond  my  utmost  hopes,  for  press  and 
public  have  universally  acknowledged  that,  as  a 
creation,  if  I  may  use  the  word,  Fitz  is  fully  equal  to 
Dundreary.  But  enough  of  myself.  Many  thanks 
to  the  gentleman  in  the  stalls  who  says  '  no,  no  ! ' 
but  if  I  don't  rattle  on  I  shall  lose  the  thread  of  what 
I  am  trying  to  arrive  at,  so  I  repeat  'enough  of 
myself;'    for    I    want    to    speak    of    a     dear    old 


ABOUT    SOTHERN.  249 

friend  of  mine,  Mr.  John  T.  Raymond,  who 
will  more  than  fill  my  place  on  these  boards  on 
Monday  night.  (Good  !)  I  knew  that  would  '  bring 
down  the  house  ! '  -  Do  it  again.  Thank  you.  As 
Colonel  Sellers,  he  has  stamped  himself. — (Voice  from 
the  dress  circle — '  He's  what  ?')  I  don't  mean  he's  post- 
age stamped  himself  ;  I  mean  he's  proven  himself  one 
of  the  finest  character  actors  of  the  age.  On  Friday 
next  he  will  have  performed  Golond  Sellers  1,000 
times,  and  if  he  lives,  you  may  eventually  add  two  or 
three  O's  and  say  '  there's  millions  in  it ! '  (Applause.) 
Ah  !  I  had  you  again.  Thanks.  Now  I'll  have  a 
fly  at  something  else.  I  wish  publicly  to  thank  Mr. 
Henry  Abbey,  the  manager  of  this  theatre,  for  his 
kindness,  thoughtfulness  and  liberality.  My  thanks 
are  also  due  to  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  have  so 
greatly  helped  me  through  what  I  am  proud  to  call  a 
most  successful  engagement.  To  the  press  I  am  much 
indebted  for  the  generous  way  in  which  they  have 
criticised  our  performances,  and  especially  for  the  kind 
words  of  encouragement  they  gave  me  when  I  made 
the  bold  and  dangerous  experiment  of  satirizing  a 
school  of  acting  that  some  even  yet  believe  in.  With 
Mr,  Byron's  permission  I  shall  ^vrite  in  (he  would  do 
it  much  better,  but  he  won't ;  he  hasn't  the  time) 
another  scene,  in  which  Fitzaltamont,  failing  as  a  lec- 
turer on  the  '  Carriway  Tribe,'  turns  pi-estidigitateur 
(what  a  frightfully  long  word),  I  mean  a  conjurer.     I 


250  TALKS    WITH    SOTHERN. 

merely  add  that  to  make  things  extra  clear.  Robert 
Heller  is  a  very  old  fi-iend  of  mine,  and  he  has,  in  the 
kindest  manner,  been  teaching  me  the  wildest  sorts  of 
tricks.  They  do  look  so  easy,  and  they  are  so  diffi- 
cult. He  thinks  nothing  at  all  of  pulling  babies  and 
bird  cages  out  of  his  boots,  and  putting  them  up  his 
sleeve  or  palming  them.  But  then  he  requires  music. 
Now,  I  don't.  That  gives  me  encouragement.  As  to 
Miss  Heller,  she  has  most  graciously  for  months  past 
endeavored  to  explain  to  me  the  '  Second  Sight ' 
mystery.  I've  conquered  the  'First  Sight.'  It's  the 
*  Second  Sight '  that  floors  me.  For  instance,  in  con- 
juring, I  can  take  a  common  hat,  like  this — we'll  call 
it  a  common  hat,  but  it  isn't — and  you  see  at  once 
how,  by  a  pure  effort  of  memory,  I  gently  produce  a 
common  baby,  weighing  thirty-two  pounds  and  a  few 
ounces.  Of  course,  it's  a  fearful  strain  on  the  mind  ; 
but  you  see  at  a  glance  how  it  is  done,  don't  you  ? 
Well,  I'll  do  it  again.  (Voice  from  stalls— '  When  ?') 
When  I  return  from  England.  Good  night.  God 
bless  everybody  I" 


THE    END. 


1878 


1878. 


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